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by wingedbears



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Demisexual Jughead Jones, Established Betty Cooper/Veronica Lodge, F/F, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, No Murder Mystery, Romantic Comedy, Wedding Planning, Weddings, Welcome Home, sexy talks about sexy times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-07-15 14:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16065341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedbears/pseuds/wingedbears
Summary: “Well,” Betty says, cutting into his thoughts, “that means a wedding, and I wanted to ask you to be my best man.”There is no word to describe Jughead’s feelings at the moment. No English word, anyway.  Perhaps the Japanese or Maori had a word for “horrified but honored, usually in use with a gift one cannot refuse”.“Of course,” Jughead grits out, probably with a stilted, grim look on his face.  He knows that he’s supposed to be smiling.“You can say no,” Betty says, letting go of his hand, not visibly slumping, but all the light going from her eyes.“No, I really can’t,” Jughead says.  He grabs her hand back.  “Betty, I’m honored,” he says.  “But why me?”Betty looks at him like he’s a moron.  It’s a rare look for him to receive from her.  “I’m marrying my best friend,” she says.  “So I’m asking my other best friend to help me get married.”Jughead swallows.  This is a terrible idea, right up there with Midtown and brunches.  “I’m going to have to throw a bridal shower, aren’t I?”Betty perks right up.  “I love you!” she sing-songs, like this will carry the news better.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts, as most things in Jughead’s life nowadays do, with brunch. 

To be clear: Jughead hates brunch.

But Betty, Veronica, Jellybean, and his publicist Trisha love grapefruit mimosas with an unholy passion, so he subjects himself to them so they can get business done. 

This particular brunch is in Upper East Side, which Jughead also hates. But it’s with Betty, whom he loves. 

“Thank you so much for meeting me,” Betty says, her blonde hair in waves around her face, looking incredibly earnest.

Jughead raises his eyebrows, mid sip of water. “In the Upper East,” he says, low.

“Jughead,” Betty chides, still smiling. “It’s where I live,” she says.

“You couldn’t meet me halfway?”

“In Midtown?” Betty asks, scrunching her nose. She has a point. She reaches out to lightly touch the back of Jughead’s hand. “Look,” she says, turning serious, “this is important to me, and I wanted to do this somewhere special.”

Jughead frowns, looks around the crowded place, trying to peg why it’s special. He turns his hand over to grasp Betty’s.

“It’s where Veronica and I first started dating.”

“I can’t tell you how bougie that sounds,” Jughead drawls. “Two career girl lesbians on the Upper East Side, falling in love over Bloody Marys and poached tea eggs on sticky rice.” He squeezes her hand twice.

Betty laughs and rolls her eyes. “We fell in love long before that, Jughead,” she says.

“Yeah, I know,” Jughead says quietly. He looks at their hands, entwined on the table next to cloth napkins. It seems surreal, a long way from Pop’s and milkshakes, whispered confessions of love for each other, for others.

He and Betty went to prom then promptly broke up. Amicable, practical, all together them. Betty was head over heels for Veronica Lodge. It worked out, the three of them moving to NYU and bunking in an apartment, Jughead watching their painfully slow love story evolve. 

“Why is this important?” he asks, trying to find the right pitch of intimacy over the din of the restaurant. 

“Veronica asked me to marry her,” Betty says, beaming. She looks beautiful. She _is_ beautiful.

“I know, I was there,” Jughead says, huffing a laugh. Veronica pulled out all the stops for Betty. No expense spared. Betty was furious, however, claiming she was supposed ask Veronica, not the other way around. There were tears. He and Jellybean filmed it and left the party early. Jellybean moaned about her own love life over waffles in a shitty diner on the Lower East Side in Brooklyn. Jughead could relate. But Jellybean was a sophomore in college, and still the coolest person Jughead knew. She’d be alright.

“Well,” Betty says, cutting into his thoughts, “that means a wedding, and I wanted to ask you to be my best man.”

There is no word to describe Jughead’s feelings at the moment. No English word, anyway. Perhaps the Japanese or Maori had a word for “horrified but honored, usually in use with a gift one cannot refuse”. 

“Of course,” Jughead grits out, probably with a stilted, grim look on his face. He knows that he’s supposed to be smiling. 

“You can say no,” Betty says, letting go of his hand, not visibly slumping, but all the light going from her eyes.

“No, I really can’t,” Jughead says. He grabs her hand back. “Betty, I’m honored,” he says. “But why me?”

Betty looks at him like he’s a moron. It’s a rare look for him to receive from her. “I’m marrying my best friend,” she says. “So I’m asking my other best friend to help me get married.”

Jughead swallows. This is a terrible idea, right up there with Midtown and brunches. “I’m going to have to throw a bridal shower, aren’t I?”

Betty perks right up. “I love you!” she sing-songs, like this will carry the news better.

Jughead runs a hand over his face. “Do you have plans?” Jughead asks, trailing off because Betty is already moving her pomegranate mimosa and water aside, leaning down to her frighteningly large tote bag and pulling out a binder.

A binder. The stuff of nightmares.

“Yes, but I marked the things that are ‘must have’ in green, the ‘I like but not totally necessary’ in yellow, and the ‘totally out there, but feasible’ ideas in pink.” She hands it over and Jughead feels its substantial weight.

“Okay,” Jughead says slowly, cracking open the binder. There are folders, and clippings, and little hearts drawn on things next to sticky notes. “You’re getting a wedding planner, right?” he asks. 

Betty rolls her eyes. “Yes, of course, already done. His name is August-”

“Of course it is-”

“And he’s single,” Betty continues. 

Jughead sets the binder down gingerly. “Why Betty Cooper, what are you implying?”

Betty lowers her eyelids, purses her lips. “I’d like to see my best man happy.”

Jughead crosses his arms, tilts his head. “I am happy,” he says. 

Betty blows out an exasperated sigh. “You know what I mean, Jughead, I haven’t seen you with anyone since you broke up with Scout, and I know,” she says putting up her hands to avoid the oncoming retort, “that being with someone doesn’t mean happiness, but-” she sighs again. “But a career isn’t everything.”

Jughead groans. He doesn’t want to have this conversation over brunch. “Can we move on to a different subject, please?” he asks, attempting diplomacy. 

Betty pauses, frowns, and then shrugs. “Okay, but for sure, you’re my best man?” she asks, bright and rosy-cheeked again.

“Yeah,” Jughead says, “Anything for you.”

What Betty didn’t mention, was that it was a destination wedding. The destination? Riverdale.

Jughead nearly explodes on learning this. “Riverdale?” he hisses at Jellybean on the phone, “The cesspit I left behind?”

“It’s not a cesspit,” Jellybean says rationally. “You’re just bitter.”

“Of course I’m bitter,” Jughead snaps. “I have to go back to the one place I swore I’d never return to.”

Jellybean belts out a laugh. “Okay, _now_ you’re being dramatic. It’s a town. A small town, but a town.”

Jughead sighs, glaring at his pinboard of names and pictures for his latest book. Sometimes he wished his life was more easily laid out, plot point by plot point. Okay, so it was true crime and the story was already there, Jughead was just digging into it. It was easier to organize a mystery than it was to organize his own feelings for Riverdale. “I have to go,” he says, fingering a notecard, ‘Laci’. “I can’t not go, Betty needs me to be there.”

“Jug,” Jellybean says, “You can’t stay in your little writer’s hole forever. I’ll be there too,” she gently reminds him. “Plus, you can’t avoid home forever.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Look, I need to do some writing,” he tells her, sitting at his desk.

“And I’ve got homework, so…”

“Whatever,” Jughead laughs. “Bye,” he says, and hangs up, before she can say anything else. 

 

Jughead flies out to the main city one week before the big day. His novel is in edits, his calendar is clear, and his nerves are shot. Unfortunately, he hops the Cessna Caravan to Riverdale with August, who is incredibly nervous on planes.

August is chatty the whole ride, and keeps hitting on Jughead. 

Jughead isn’t sure how many times he can look over at August despairingly before he knocks it off.

They finally land, the turbulence over the mountains done with, the rubber screeching on the tarmac. Jughead grabs his bag and books it outside, opening his phone, searching for a Lyft. Maybe some enterprising student is making his way through school...or not. Jughead sighs. “Taxi?” August asks, breathless behind him.

“Come on,” Jughead grunts, re-shouldering his bag when his phone buzzes.

It’s a text from Veronica. _Look up_ , he reads as he steps out the road. 

A town car, with Veronica’s old family butler, Smithers, is waiting with the door open. “Mr. Jones,” he says. “Mr. Wilson.” 

Jughead’s phone buzzes again. _Ronnie put you up in The Pembrooke! Love you!_

“Hey Smithers,” Jughead says, and bypasses him to drop his luggage in the trunk. August follows his lead. 

When they both get in the car, Smithers at the wheel, August pipes up, “Is there a Starbucks in town?” 

Jughead wants to punch August in his face. 

Smithers proves to be more diplomatic. “No, sir. There is a locally owned coffee shop, however, and they sell espresso based drinks you might enjoy.” 

“Could we?” August asks Jughead pleadingly. 

Jughead closes his eyes and hits his head against the headrest. “Sure,” he drones, and Mr. Smithers maneuvers the car to their destination. 

He feels the car come to a stop, and then Smithers says, “Here we are, Spellman’s Brew,” Smithers says. 

God, Sabrina would. 

“Spellman’s Brew?” August laughs. He looks over at Jughead conspiratorially. “Small towns, huh?”

Jughead’s opinion for Sabrina’s terrible pun improves just as much as his opinion of August lowers. “Yes, small towns are well known for their cute cafes,” he says. 

August looks confused at Jughead’s rebuff, but climbs out after him, regardless. Jughead pops his head back in the car. “Get you anything, Smithers?” he asks.

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Jones,” Smithers says, ever polite.

Jughead nods, and closes the door. He turns, but August is already inside. He opens the painted door to a waft of brewed coffee smell, and quiet chattering. Jughead would rather have Pop’s burned coffee any day, but he’s here, so he might as well.

He joins August in line, looking at the menu. 

“Good God,” August gasps, and Jughead glares. He desperately hopes August is staying in another suite because Jughead might create his own murder mystery if August doesn’t stop. “Who’s that?”

Jughead pulls his phone out of his pocket, texting Betty that August is a terrible mistake, and when is she getting here, when he looks up to follow August’s unsubtle checking out of someone in the corner of the cafe. 

“Archie,” he says, unbidden. 

Archie Andrews, the boy he left behind. The one boy he couldn’t ever get over. Archie’s back is still to them, and Jughead wants to jolt, leave, his throat closed up in panic, but then he sees a small girl, no more than four, sitting at the table and coloring while talking to Archie.

Archie has a kid.

Jughead suddenly can’t move, can’t look away. He’s tied to the tracks, and the train is coming. And just like that, like he was bidden, Archie turns around, that stupid expression of confusion across his still handsome face. Then, he smiles.

Jughead feels like his heart just started up again, the fibulator that’s Archie’s blinding smile slamming him back to life. This isn’t happening, Jughead thinks as Archie stands, this is not happening. 

“Jughead!” Archie says, arms wide. 

Jughead is soon swooped up into a hug, and he awkwardly pats Archie back. 

“I knew you were going to be in town for Ronnie and Betty’s wedding, but I didn’t expect to see you this early.” Archie pulls back, arms loose and easy.

“I’m the best man,” Jughead says, still in a weird state of shock

Archie’s smile gets wider, the start of crow’s feet at his eyes. Jughead wants to die.

“And who’s your friend?” Archie asks, looking over at August, who Jughead had forgotten about for a glorious moment. 

“This is August Wilson, the wedding coordinator,” Jughead says, gesturing. “August, this is Archie Andrews.”

He doesn’t pin a relationship to Archie, because what can he say? My very best friend until I left for college? The guy who I was so in love with for the majority of my life? A dad, apparently?

“Nice to meet you,” August says, and Jughead throws a thank you to the deities that August doesn’t simper. 

“You too,” Archie says, shaking his hand. He looks down to his right, where the girl is now standing, glaring at Jughead and August, hand fisted in Archie’s pants. 

“Hey girl,” Archie says, and picks her up with ease. “Luna,” he says, giving her a little shake as she settles easily onto his hip, “These guys are here for the wedding.”

Luna seems somewhat appeased by this.

“This is August Wilson, and Jughead Jones,” Archie continues, and Luna frowns again. Archie pauses, looking at her. “Can you say hello?”

“Hi,” Luna says, suspicious. Jughead doesn’t blame her. 

“Hi Luna!” August replies, his voice pitching up. Luna hides her face in Archie’s neck.

“Nice to meet you,” Jughead says in a normal tone, like a normal human. 

Luna looks up at him. She’s still frowning, but turns to Archie. “Papa, I colored Barbie, come see.”

“Okay,” Archie says, like there’s nothing better than checking out scribbled on Barbies. He looks to them. “Duty calls,” he says, and walks back to his table.

Jughead feels like the lights went out. 

“Next!” the barista calls, and August moves forward to order.

Jughead, pulled by an unknown force, walks over to Archie’s table. “You have a kid,” he says, apropos of nothing.

Archie jolts, and looks up at him. His eyes turn soft. “Yep, it’s been me and Luna for four years now,” he says, that goofy look he usually got when he talked about girls.

“Where’s your wife?” Jughead asks, darting a glance at Luna, who’s moved onto a new page. 

Archie looks confused for a second, but laughs. “Jughead, I’m not married.” 

“Okay, your girlfriend?”

Archie looks up at him, a strange look in his eye. “Ever the investigator, Jug.”

“Well?” Jughead asks, crossing his arms.

“Nope, no girlfriend. Just me and Luna.”

Jughead looks behind him to see that August is still studying the menu, so Jughead sits at the vacant seat next to Archie. “She wasn’t sprung from the thigh of Zeus, Archie.”

Archie smirks, then sobers. “Luna is Val and Reggie’s kid,” he says.

Val and Reggie, who died in a car accident. Who had one kid.

“I’m her godfather, so I took her in.”

“Archie, I’m sorry,” Jughead says. “I shouldn’t have,” he doesn’t know how to back out of this one. Maybe leave town for another twelve years.

“It’s okay,” Archie assures him. “It’s good for her to talk about her parents, for us to do that too. She doesn’t remember them, it’s why she calls me Papa.” Archie looks down at his hands, cupped around a mostly empty cup. 

Jughead swallows. 

“Well, Jughead,” August says, interrupting the staring match he and Archie have going on, “got my latte.”

“Great,” Jughead says, standing and pulling a twenty out of his wallet. “Get me two black coffees to go,” he looks down at Archie. “Want anything?”

“No, no more coffee for me,” he says.

August looks miffed and befuddled, but walks back up to the counter anyway.

“Look,” Jughead says, grabbing a purple crayon and a coloring sheet.

“Hey!” Luna says, mad. Jughead pauses.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. That was rude. Luna, can I please borrow your crayon and draw something for your Papa?”

Luna smiles, and Jughead can see Reggie in it. “Yeah!” she says. “Papa says sharing is the goodest.” She hands him a paper already drawn on paper of Barbie riding a horse. “Here, Barbie rides horses.”

Jughead is not sure how that relates with sharing, but he takes the paper and jots down his number. “Call, or text, or whatever,” he says as the wax hits the paper. “I’m staying at The Pembrooke.”

“Wow,” Archie says. “Jughead Jones, living the big life.”

“Ronnie set it up,” Jughead says, rolling his eyes.

“That makes sense,” Archie replies, and folds the paper and tucks it into his pocket. “I’ll text, I promise.”

Something that Jughead told Archie before leaving. 

“Great,” Jughead says, straightening up on seeing that August is coming their way with a coffee carrier. “See you.” He turns to leave, and then thinks better of it. “Bye Luna,” he says, and she sends him a bright smile, like her Papa. 

“Bye, Jugned Jones!” she says, tripping over the hard g to the h. 

Archie laughs. “You can call him Juggie,” he says, easy as anything. He smiles at Jughead conspiratorially. Jughead’s heart clenches.

Luna rolls with it, “Bye, Juggie Jones!”

Jughead holds the door open for August, and they walk out to the fall air. Jughead is still caught up in thoughts of Archie, Archie with a kid, Luna, that he doesn’t hear August speaking the first time. 

“What?” Jughead asks, pulling out the two coffees and sliding into the town car behind August. He leans forward and hands Smithers a cup.

“Thank you sir,” Smithers says, and Jughead leans back and turns to August to catch the last word of his sentence.

“- dilf?”

“What?” Jughead snaps. 

“The hottie with a body and a kid, the red head? The guy that pulled you in like a magnet?”

Jughead is torn between throwing his coffee on August and throwing himself out of the moving car. “Archie?” he asks. “What about him?”

“Look, I’m going to be real with you, Jughead,” August says after a sip of his latte, “I haven’t had sex in months.”

“Great,” Jughead says, eyeing the door handle to the car. 

“And since you’re obviously not interested,” August says flippantly, “I was thinking I’d dip my toe in the beautiful lake that is Archie Andrews-”

“No,” Jughead says, clipped and with finality.

Even Smithers raises an eyebrow at that one.

“So there is something there,” August says slyly. He grins, cheshire like, over his coffee and winks at Jughead. “Gotcha.”

Jughead was played like a fiddle, by August. He really must be losing it. He lets out a blustery sigh, and adjusts his hat. “Archie and I are friends,” he says. _Were_ friends. “And if you want to entangle yourself in his life, fine, go ahead.”

“I wasn’t really,” August says, affronted. “You obviously have feelings for him.”

Jughead drinks his scalding coffee and says nothing, willing the car to stop, for something to happen so August won’t have him spilling his guts in the backseat of the Lodge’s town car.

Miraculously, Jughead’s phone buzzes. He pulls it out and looks, from an unknown number, _Hey Jughead, it’s Archie!_

Jughead sets his coffee down in the door cup holder and his thumbs hover over the keyboard. After a minute, he realizes he’s putting too much thought into it.

_Please save me from August_ , he types.

The three little dots immediately pop up. _Idk he’s pretty cute_. Then, _your boyfriend?_

_NOT MY BOYFRIEND HOW DARE YOU_.

_Lol._

_He was obviously sent here with me by some ploy by Betty._ Jughead glances over at August, who is peering out the window. _She keeps trying to set me up._

_Sounds about right._

Jughead is about to respond, but the car finally pulls up to the apartment building and he’s grabbing his coffee and sliding out the backseat before Smithers can make his way around. He pockets the phone, and feels a buzz as he does so.

Smithers picks up on the hint that Jughead like to do it for himself, so being the class act he is, asks, “Shall I get your bags, Mr. Jones?”

“No thank you, Smithers,” Jughead says, and lifts his bag one handed out of the trunk. He looks up at The Pembrooke, tall and imposing, and as out of place as it’s always been.

“Suite four oh one, sir,” Smithers says, fishing out a key and handing it to Jughead before turning to help August.

Jughead takes the key, and strolls to the elevator, nodding at security as he passes. It feels surreal to be in here. He presses the up button, and waits, feeling another buzz from his phone. 

He takes a sip of the still too hot coffee, and walks into the elevator, antsy to answer his phone. Sure, it could be Trisha with something about his edits, or Betty asking to be nice to August, but it could be Archie. 

Jughead finally gets to his suite, and it’s entirely too big, white and gray, and ritzy than he’d ever wanted. But it’s his home for the next two weeks. He strolls over to the pristine kitchen counters, a bowl of lemons artfully arranged sitting there, and sets his coffee down. 

He’s not eager to look at his phone. It’s business.

It’s Archie. 

_Listen, my dad is doing the last cookout of the year, you should come over,_ Jughead reads. _Bring August, he’s hilarious_.

Jughead frowns. _August is everything that’s wrong with Manhattan_ , he types out.

_I don’t know what you mean_ , Archie immediately replies. _But he’s welcome to come. The old place, 5:30_.

Jughead sets his phone down, but picks it back up again. _Isn’t that early?_

_Not when you have a four year old._

_Fair enough._

Jughead looks at the time, 3:00. Just enough time to shower, shave and change before running down to Archie’s old house. 

He’s already unpacking, then thinks on Archie’s invitation to August. All of Jughead wants to not spend another minute with August, but then, Betty would want him to invite him. 

Jughead rolls his eyes at himself. 

He walks out to the hallway, and sure enough, August is across the hallway, helping Smithers with his absurd amount of luggage. “Hey August,” Jughead says.

August turns as Smithers opens the door. “Yeah?”

“Cookout at Archie’s place at 5:30, you in?”

August smiles, and it seems like the first genuine one that Jughead has gotten. “For sure! What time are we leaving?”

“5:15,” Jughead says, and looks at Smithers. “I don’t want to run you ragged, Mr. Smithers, is there a car Veronica left for us?”

Smithers smiles. “Of course, Mr. Jones. Miss Lodge thought of that, and left you a vehicle for each of you.” He pulls out two more keys, and hands one to August, and one to Jughead. Jughead peers at the fob, a BMW. Jughead feels distinctly uncomfortable, like being at a Upper East Side brunch. 

“Thank you, Smithers,” Jughead says.

“5:15?” August asks.

“Yep. I’ll drive,” he says, jangling his keys. 


	2. Chapter 2

Driving there is easy; Jughead remembers the streets, the turns, the one light that takes forever to change. Not all roads lead to Archie’s house, but to Jughead, they might as well. Jughead parks behind the Dodge truck Archie still has.

“What color is that?” August asks, leaning forward in his seat.

“Frosty Green,” Jughead says, putting the BMW in park. 

“It’s cute,” August offers. He sounds dubious about it’s other qualities.

“It’s a hunk of junk, I can’t believe he still has it.”

“Maybe he likes it?” August gets out of the car before Jughead can shoot back that Archie doesn’t always like what’s best for him.

Jughead gets out and locks the car, and joins August on the stoop. August knocks. “We didn’t need to bring anything, right?” he asks.

“Nah,” Jughead says, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly feeling nervous. What was there to be nervous about? 

Fred Andrews opens the door, Luna on his hip. “Jughead Jones!” he says, a wide smile on his face. 

“Juggie Jones!” Luna repeats, fists gripping Fred’s shirt.

Fred laughs. “Good to see you, kid.” He draws Jughead into a one sided hug, and Luna pats his face.

“And this is August Wilson, he’s the wedding coordinator,” Jughead introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” Fred says, sticking his hand out for August to shake. 

August accepts Fred’s hand and then Fred pulls them in, letting go.

“I’ve got the grill fired up, August, what do you know about coal grilling?”

“Not much,” August admits. “I don’t have rooftop access.”

“City boy,” Fred teases. “C’mon, I’ll show you how to work the briquettes.” He walks a few steps, and looks at Luna, still hanging on like a limpet. “Alright, Lulu, I gotta set you down now,” he says.

Luna grips tighter, looking at Jughead, untrusting. “No!” she says.

“It’s alright, Jughead is a nice guy,” Fred says, slowly bending over. Luna grips tighter, but her body swings down, even as she raises her feet up to not touch the ground. “Luna,” Fred chides.

“It’s alright, I wouldn’t want to hang out with me either,” Jughead says, jamming his hands in his pockets.

“Not the point, kiddo,” Fred says with a sharp look. Luna tries a new tactic: going limp. Fred lays her gently on the floor. “Let go, please,” he says, and she does, but crosses her arms and glares at Jughead.

“Hey,” Fred says pointedly, and Jughead’s spine straightens in response. Jughead guesses he can’t forget who raised him.

Luna looks up, pouting. “Grandpa,” she whines. 

“Be nice,” Fred say sternly. He’s worked with Archie’s puppy dog eyes for decades, and Luna’s making a run for his money, but it’s not enough.

“Hey,” Jughead tells her, “I was gonna hang out with your dad anyway, wanna join me?”

Luna thinks about this. “Can you color with me?” she asks. 

Jughead shrugs. “I don’t see why not.”

Luna perks up. She runs into over to a bench by the stairs and cracks it open, as Fred and August tiptoe out of the room. “My crayons are in here,” she says. She looks at Jughead, considering. “Do you like Barbie?”

Jughead wants to bring up the inherent problems with Barbie, but Luna takes his silence as a yes, and pulls out a Barbie coloring book and a tin that rattles.

She walks into the kitchen, and Jughead follows her.

“Grandpa lets me color in the kitchen,” she says archly.

“I take it that’s not always the case?” Jughead rethinks, _I’m talking to a four year old_ , “Where does your dad let you color?”

“The living room,” she says, drooping.

“Yeah, and tell him why we color in the living room,” Archie says behind him. Jughead turns. “Hey Jug,” Archie says with a smile.

“I only colored the floors a little bit!” Luna says. “And that was when I was three,” she adds.

“When’s your birthday?” Jughead asks, holding in a laugh. 

“March eighteenth,” she recites, sitting in a chair. 

“Cool,” Jughead says. “So, you’re like, four and a half now?”

Luna looks at him, wide eyed. “I am?”

“If your birthday is in March, and this is September,” he says, shrugging. 

“Papa!” she says, “I’m four and a half!”

Archie laughs. “Yep, congratulations.” He leans over and kisses her forehead.

“So I get cake, right?” she asks. “A party?”

“No, you’re just older.”

“Old enough to listen to The Pussycats?” she bites her lip. She’s too guileless to wheedle, but it’s close.

“No,” Archie says firmly. “Color me something in rainbow, Lulu,” he says, and then she’s absorbed in the crayons, picking out the right color red.

So it’s not exactly just him and Archie in the kitchen, but Jughead actually feels better for the buffer of Luna.

“Anything I can help with?” Jughead asks, pulling his eyes away from Luna’s crayon selection.

“Slice some tomatoes and onions?” Archie replies, and at Jughead’s nod, grabs the ingredients and sets them on the counter. 

“Everything still in the same place?” Jughead asks, opening a cabinet door, and sure enough, the cutting boards are still there. He pulls one out, and walks over to the knife block and pulls one out. “Guess so,” he says, and starts with the tomatoes.

“Yeah, Dad never moved anything,” Archie says. “I just took a lot when I moved out.”

“Where do you live?” Jughead asks, focusing on the tomato. 

“Maple and Pine,” Archie says. He turns on the tap to start rinsing and peeling the lettuce.

“Not quite Southside, then,” Jughead replies.

“Jughead,” Archie says, “We can talk about it if you want.”

“Is this our adult conversation now?” Jughead asks, pressing too hard into the tomato. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, just maybe have it all go back to the way it was without acknowledging the elephant in the room. 

“Don’t you think we should have one?” Archie asks rationally. 

“I’m still trying to get over the fact that you have a kid,” Jughead whispers. 

“You don’t have to whisper about her, she’s not a secret,” Archie says, suddenly mad. There’s the temper, the impulsivity that Jughead missed. 

“Sorry,” Jughead says. “She’s...wonderful, Arch,” he says. “And she obviously loves you a lot, it’s just, hard to wrap my head around.” 

Archie shrugs it off. “Yeah, I mean, I love her Jughead, she’s my whole life.” He looks down at the lettuce he’s rinsing off in the sink. “It’s hard when people don’t love her right away. She’s already had it so rough.” He turns off the tap and glances over at Jughead. “She deserves more than me.”

Jughead frowns, sets the knife down carefully, looks to see that Luna isn’t looking, and glares at Archie. “Don’t say that, you idiot!”

“That’s a bad word, Juggie!” Luna pipes in.

Jughead opens his mouth, caught in the rundown between anger at Archie and Luna’s reprimand. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” he says as gently as he can.

Luna glares for a second and then goes back to her coloring. 

Like magic, Jughead and Archie turn back towards each other. “Luna is a great kid, and you’re a great dad. Don’t you dare think she needs more than you,” Jughead says.

 

Archie frowns, blushing. “I guess.”

“‘I guess’, nothing. Shut up,” Jughead whispers, so Luna won’t hear. “I know from terrible childhoods, and if her main complaint is she can’t draw in the kitchen is it, than you’re doing better than my old man.”

The ghost of F.P. hangs in the kitchen with them for a moment, the reminder of Southside and of Jughead’s past. He’s been dead for nine years, and Jughead doesn’t regret not going to the funeral. What he and his dad had was broken, only tethered by a familial bond that Jughead only felt for Jellybean. F.P. was kinder in his old age, but that didn’t make up for everything else. Jughead never forgave him for treating the family like trash.

Archie’s eyebrows jut inward quickly, denting the scar he got from falling out of the treehouse at eleven. “Thanks,” he says eventually. 

Jughead turns back to cutting tomatoes. “I’m not ready to talk about it,” he admits, putting the slices on a plate and moving to the second tomato. 

“I’ll be here when you’re ready,” Archie concedes. 

Jughead sighs, wants to explain himself when Fred and August walk in. 

“We’re ready for the meat!” Fred says, and walks around to open the fridge. “Any of you boys want a beer?”

“I’ll take one,” August says. 

“Help yourself,” Fred says, grabbing onto the plate of hamburger patties. “Arch, will you open one for me and bring it out?”

“Yes sir,” Archie says. Fred walks back outside and shuts the door behind him.

Archie bags the rest of the lettuce and walks over to the fridge. “Jughead, you never said, you want a beer?”

Jughead hears the distinct clinks of bottles hitting each other. “Beer is disgusting,” he says, not turning around. “But yeah, I’ll have one.”

Archie laughs. “I think you’ll like it,” he says and Jughead can hear the smile in his voice, “It’s pumpkin stout.”

Jughead turns around, gaping. “How could you ever-” he starts, and looks at Archie, who’s biting his lip. 

“It’s Sam Adams, Jughead. C’mon. It’s my dad.” He pops the top open, his forearm muscles flexing slightly. 

Jughead darts a glance over at August, who looks thirsty for more than a pale ale. 

“Here,” Archie says, handing August the first one, then popping three more. 

“Can I have one?” Luna asks. 

“No, baby,” Archie says easy as anything. “You can have milk if you want it.”

“Chocolate milk?” she asks, eyes wide.

His eyes lower. “Are you manipulating your Papa?” 

“No!” Luna says emphatically. Then, “What’s manipulating?”

Jughead laughs. “It’s when you try to get something you want out of somebody, by playing to their weaknesses.”

Luna frowns, blinking. 

“You want something from someone, and know how to get it, even if it means being sneaky,” Jughead restates. 

Luna tilts her head in understanding. “I was not manipulating you Papa, promise.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Archie folds.

“I’ll get it, Archie,” Jughead says.

“Thanks Jug,” Archie replies, and takes two opened beers. “But like,” he says, turning, “only a cup, okay? Six ounces?”

“I got you,” Jughead says, and Archie walks out the backdoor. 

August hums, taking a sip of his beer while Jughead finds a plastic cup. “I love domesticated beer.” He pauses, “And domesticated boys.”

Jughead slides him a withering look. “I’m helping out,” he says, finding a small, pink cup with Tiana on it. Jughead takes a moment to curse Jellybean for making him know this stuff. He fills the cup with chocolate milk and sets it on the table for Luna. 

“Who says I’m talking about you?” August asks, and laughs at the frown Jughead sends him. “Never knew your face could get that scrunched up, oh my God.” 

Jughead puts the chocolate milk back in the fridge, darting a glance over at Luna. She’s chugging the milk like she hasn’t drank anything in hours, which Jughead is sure that’s not the truth. “Shut up,” he hisses, low.

“I’m just saying,” August continues, unaware of the threat that is Jughead Jones in a fury, “that you fit in here pretty well.” He waves his beer around, gesturing to the house, and then Luna. 

Jughead pulls in a deep breath, calling on all his strength not to shove August out of the house. 

“We’re _friends_. Old friends, we know each other really well.”

“Sure,” August scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

Soon enough, dinner is on the table and everyone is settled. Luna has a hamburger with ketchup and nothing else, but Archie managed her to eat some lettuce by pretending to be a hamster. 

It was cute, Jughead thought forlornly. 

The rest of the time, Luna chattered at them, holding court and refusing to eat more lettuce.

“What about some cheese?” Archie asks. He looks at Jughead and August worriedly. 

“Do hamsters eat cheese?” Luna asks. She gasps, a sudden idea, “Do dogs eat cheese?”

“No, hamsters and dogs don’t eat cheese, it’s not good for them,” Fred answers. He smiles at August and Jughead, “Someone has been begging for a dog,” he says laughing. “Like father, like daughter.” He sits back and takes a drink of beer. 

Archie rolls his eyes. “We don’t have the time for a dog right now.”

“I’d eat cheese for a dog,” Luna says, crossing her arms. 

“What about cheez-its, would you eat those?” Archie asks, trying a new tactic.

Luna nods. Archie smiles and gets up to raid the pantry.

“So, Jughead,” Fred says as Archie comes back, “who’s your new book on?”

Jughead blinks. “Laci Peterson,” he says. He knows theoretically that people read his books, he just never thought Fred Andrews would be one of them.

Fred sucks in air in a hiss. “Tough one,” he says.

“It’s a different kind of tough from my last one,” he agrees. After researching and months of nightmares, Jughead is never going on a cruise, ever.

“I had trouble sleeping, reading the last one,” Archie admits, opening the small packet of cheez-its before handing it to Luna. 

“You read it?” Jughead asks. 

“Yeah, Jughead,” Archie says, like Jughead is the idiot here, “I read it. I’m not gonna read it again, but yeah.”

“Sorry, it’s a little weird for me,” Jughead admits. “Like, I write all day and send it to my editor, and then, I don’t know, it goes into the void.”

“It’s because you don’t do press tours,” Fred says, pointing an almost empty bottle at him. “You writers like to stay holed up,” he says explicitly, looking at Archie.

Jughead turns to see Archie blushing, going around the table to sit and then glaring at Fred.

“Archie?” Jughead asks.

“It’s not anything,” Archie says, looking at the table and rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s not nothing,” Fred says sternly. “Archie writes songs,” he says proudly.

“Dad,” Archie says, covering his face now turning red.

“What songs?” August asks, ever the enabler. Jughead feels like hitting him or thanking him, but he’s not sure which.

“Just a couple of tracks I sold-” Archie starts, trying to take back the conversation, when Fred interrupts again.

“‘Back When’,” he says. “‘Missing You’, ‘For the First Time’.” Fred looks over at Archie. “There’s more.”

“They’re B tracks,” Archie says.

“No, those are great songs,” August says. “I love Josie and the Pussycats, I didn’t know you wrote their songs.”

“I don’t,” Archie says emphatically. “They just buy some songs from me occasionally.”

Jughead frowns. “I didn’t know you kept up with them,” he says.

“Josie and I did for a bit, and when she and the girls couldn’t fill a set list, I’d send them something.” He looks pointedly at Fred. “My songs don’t get airplay,” he says.

“Not that it matters,” August says. “God, when I broke up with my last boyfriend I listened to ‘Missing You’ on repeat for days. It’s a good song.”

“Thank you,” Archie says quietly.

Fred smirks. 

“Is that what you do, write songs?” August continues.

“Some of the time,” Archie says. “The rest of the time I give music lessons.” He darts a look over at Jughead. “Nothing exciting like you or Jughead.”

“I usually stayed holed up, like your dad said,” Jughead says. 

“Holed up in New York City, though,” Archie says, like being in a bigger city automatically makes Jughead’s life more interesting. 

Jughead shrugs. “It’s okay, you get used to it after awhile.”

“Yes Riverdale is beautiful,” August says, reading the room for once. “Never lived in a small town, always wondered what it was it like.”

“It’s good when you’re a kid,” Archie says. “I’m happy to raise Luna here.”

“I like it,” Fred says.

That leaves Jughead. “I miss it, sometimes,” he admits. 

Fred smiles at him softly. “Missed you too, kiddo,” he says. He looks over at Luna, who is drooping into her plate, trying to keep her eyes open. “Bedtime,” he says.

“Yep,” Archie replies, getting up. “We’ll sleep over if that’s okay, Dad?”

“Always, Archie.”

Archie goes over and picks Luna up and she sleepily lays her head on his shoulder, a poof of light brown hair next to red. 

Jughead swallows and looks down at his empty plate as Archie leaves the room. 

“Guess that’s our cue?” August asks.

“No, feel free to stick around, she’s a heavy sleeper,” Fred says, getting up.

“Let me help you clear the table,” Jughead says, and August gets up to help in the task. 

Jughead has just cleared the table of everything when Archie comes back down. “Luna has requested a story,” he announces. “Jughead, she asked for you, would you mind?”

Jughead’s mouth is agape. “I don’t mind,” he says slowly.

Archie tilts his head and walks away, and Jughead follows him up the stairs. To Archie’s room. How many nights did Jughead lay there on this floor, wanting to curl up in Archie’s bed? How many times did he dream of Archie bringing him here to kiss, or to hold each other?

Jughead feels like his whole life he’s had a crush on Archie Andrews. And this room is the center of it all. 

Archie leads him inside, and it’s completely different. 

Jughead thought nothing would have changed, but of course, everything has. Luna is here. 

The walls are a light color, the lamp in the shape of a cat glows a soft purple, the bedsheets have flowers on them.

Luna is laying in the bed, drowsy.

Jughead sits next to her, and looks over at Archie, who is rummaging through a bookshelf. Archie hands him a well worn book, _A Unicorn Named Sparkle_.

Jughead holds it carefully. 

“Read it!” Luna says, and when she sees Archie raising an eyebrow at her, she amends, “Please?”

Jughead smiles, opens the book. Archie looks at him, but Jughead can’t make out the expression in the soft light of the room. 

“The ad said, ‘Unicorn for sale, twenty five cents’,” Jughead reads, and Archie leaves the room quietly.

The book is terrible in that it almost makes Jughead cry, but Luna likes it, and at the end, Jughead asks, “Do you want me to send your dad back in?”

Luna hums, “Papa,” so Jughead gingerly gets up and goes out of the room, sees Archie sitting at the top of the stairs.

“You’ve been summoned,” Jughead whispers, and Archie stands up.

“Thanks, Jug. You didn’t have to,” he whispers back.

“Of course I did,” Jughead says, shrugging. “She asked for me.”

Archie smiles, sly and Jughead feels fourteen all over again. “ _Now_ who’s being manipulated?” he asks, and goes in to say goodnight to Luna.

 

The car ride back to The Pembrooke with August is interminable, as August keeps looking smug.

Jughead finally caves. “What?” he asks.

“Oh nothing,” August says casually, like he wasn’t waiting for Jughead to crack. “Just that I think your little family is very cute.”

Jughead grips the steering wheel tightly, breathes through his nose heavily. “August, I know you’re new to the situation, so you _think_ you know what’s going on,” Jughead says, willing himself not to be violent. “But Archie and I grew up together. We’re friends.”

“I know _I_ always write love songs about how much my friends mean to me,” August says as Jughead rolls his eyes. He lowers his voice, “Just guys being dudes.”

“The songs are not about me,” Jugheads says, pulling up to the red light. 

August looks at him considering. “You’ve heard the song ‘Missing You’ right?”

Jughead is quiet. “No,” he says eventually. “But the song isn’t about me.” The light turns green and Jughead goes forward. “Archie’s straight.”

August makes a noise somewhere between laughter and choking. “Are you serious?” he shrieks.

“I’m not having a sleepover with you, August,” Jughead says. “I’m not going to gossip about boys.”

“Look, I’m a wedding coordinator,” August continues over Jughead’s protests. “And I’ve seen a lot of couples in love. Some weren’t. But I know the look. And Archie’s got the look.”

“I know he loves me,” Jughead amends. “As a friend.”

The ensuing yell from August is ear piercing. “You’re killing me, Jones!”

Jughead has to wait for the next light to smack August, but it’s worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

The morning comes and Jughead rises, groggy.

He picks up his phone, a habit, and thumbs through the notifications. 

A text from Betty: _Be nice! August is one of the best, and you need to work TOGETHER._

Scout liked his last instagram photo, from three weeks ago. Great, Jughead thinks, Scout is going through his limited social media. Their breakup wasn’t amicable and practical. It was rough and emotional, Scout telling him that Jughead was holding back from her. 

Jughead told her it was who he was. That he loved her. And as much as those two things were true, it was equally true that he was holding back from her. From everything. It was easier. And between his pride and her’s, Jughead’s won. 

Jughead sighs. Scout was his friend, and now they’re slowly mending what was. Or at least, Scout was trying to. Jughead felt dubious about it.

And a text from Archie. _I know you have wedding work to do, but Luna is already asking after you. Could you meet up sometime today?_ Sent at six a.m. 

_I’ve got to taste some cakes and book a place in town for a bridal shower. If you don’t mind being drug around town, Luna can join?_

_Luna is very excited to be the flower girl_ , Archie texts immediately. _So choosing a cake and a venue for a bridal shower would send her over the top._ Then, _Thank you!_

_Archie, you and Luna are saving me from a week of horror. Meet you in 20?_

_Sounds good, we’ll be ready_.

Jughead is a little jealous he doesn’t get to tell Luna that she gets to test cake. 

He gets ready, and finds himself wondering which shirt looks better on him, then rolls his eyes at how ridiculous he’s being. It must be all that talk from August last night, giving him jitters at meeting Archie.

He’s finally ready, and grabs his hat on the way out, the familiar weight of the beanie a comfort. A thought niggles at the back of his brain as he locks the door to the suite and walks to the elevator.

He texts Betty. _Hey did you know Archie writes songs?_

The ellipses shows up, then disappears, then pops up again. _Yes, why?_

Jughead frowns. _I just learned last night._ He presses the down button.

_OMG, are you and Archie hanging out?!?!?!_

Jughead rolls his eyes as the elevator gently chimes and the doors open. He steps in, presses for the lobby, and replies: _Yes, we’re going cake tasting today._

Betty sends back a string of emojis; hearts, smiley faces, and stars. 

Jughead jams his phone in his pocket and goes to the car, ignoring the continuing buzzing of his phone.

He finally looks at it when he walks up to Archie’s old house, knocking on the door.

Betty: _Jughead, that’s amazing._

_Tell him I said hello!_

_I mean, I’ll see him next week, obviously._

_But OMG._

Jughead is typing his reply, _Okay,_ when the door opens.

It’s Archie, and he’s already got Luna on his hip. “Hey!” he says, brightly. 

“Juggie!” Luna shouts, and reaches out for him with small arms. Jughead is surprised but holds his arms out, shooting Archie a questioning look. 

Archie just smiles. 

Luna hugs Jughead tightly and pats his cheeks. “Juggie, Papa says we’re gonna eat cake!” 

“Yep,” Jughead replies. “What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Chocolate,” she says. “But I like strawberry too.”

“Both good flavors, glad you’re with me today.”

“Is this the wedding cake?” she asks as Archie steps onto the stoop to shut the door. 

“No, this is for the bridal shower,” Jughead replies. 

“Speaking of,” Archie says, pulling out his keys, “what do you get for the girls who have everything?”

“A 1974 Dodge Adventurer in Frosty Green?” Jughead says.

Archie glares. “Don’t even joke about that. Some of my best memories are in this truck.”

Jughead opens his mouth to retort about all the girls Archie’s made out with in the truck, but realizes he’s holding Archie’s daughter and shuts his mouth. “I take it we’re taking the truck on the town today?”

“I can move the booster seat,” Archie offers, but looks uncomfortable.

“You’re worried about a four year old in a brand new BMW?” Jughead surmises.

“Yeah,” Archie says with a wince. “She’s usually clean, but there’s always that one time…”

“I get it,” Jughead says, and carries Luna over to the truck. Then he remembers as he goes to open the door: there’s only one bench seat. And since child safety laws exist -

“You’re gonna have to squeeze in the middle,” Archie says apologetically. He bites his lip and looks at Jughead.

Jughead clears his throat. “No problem.” He opens the door and put Luna in her seat, strapping her in, and walks around the front to the other side, where Archie is holding the door open. 

“It’s probably easiest if you straddle it,” Archie says, looking in the truck.

Jughead follows Archie’s line of vision. The stick shift. Of course. He climbs in and straddles the hump, one leg on each side of the stick.

Archie gets in, and their thighs press together, creating a line of warmth all down Jughead’s side.

“Okay?” Archie asks, buckling in, fingers at Jughead’s hip. 

“All good,” Jughead lies, and prays to anyone listening that he doesn’t pop a boner in Archie Andrew’s truck while sitting next to his daughter. He just had to keep his mind on other things, he thinks, and clears his throat as Archie starts the car. “We’re going to Applewaithe’s bakery,” Jughead says.

Archie nods, puts his hand on the stick shift between Jughead’s legs, and puts it in first, brushing the inside of Jug’s thigh. 

“Luna!” Jughead says a little too loudly, thankful for a distraction, any distraction. “Are you in school?”

Luna perks up at the attention, starting a barrage of chatter that keeps Jughead’s mind off of the current situation.

Thank fuck, Jughead thinks, and the ten minute ride doesn’t seem like an eternity with Archie almost but not quite touching him. 

The cake sampling is easy enough, with Luna’s decision making skills. Jughead gets two cakes, strawberry and chocolate, and points out the mirror glaze on a display cake for one, and gets a simplistic buttercream for the other. He gets Luna to try the mirror glaze and the buttercream and her eyes go wide in delight.

Jughead orders them, then feels a tug at his jeans. Luna takes his hand and points to the chocolate covered strawberries in the display case. 

“Hey,” he says to the girl that’s just took his order. “I know I just said I was finished, but-”

“Two dozen?” she asks, smiling. 

Jughead laughs. “Yeah,” he says, looking down at Luna. “Thanks Luna, that was a really good idea.”

Luna beams at him, and he feels his heart clench. She walks over to Archie, who is watching them from the door with an odd look on his face, and asks for a piggy-back ride.

They walk out onto the street, the door jingling behind them. 

“Hey, could you get me the biggest one of those?” he asks, pointing to the chocolate covered strawberries.

“Sure thing!” the sales girl says, and puts one about the size of Luna’s palm in a tiny, pink box. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to check on the Lodge-Cooper cake?”

The girls eyes widen in recognition. “You mean the three tiered, lemon-lavender, buttercream roses and pearl nonpareils monstrosity we’re prepping?”

“That’s the one.”

“We’ve got all the ingredients and extras set, the exact shade of pink, and the base cake has been baked and drizzled.”

Jughead is sure that means something to someone. “So the cake will be ready by the weekend?”

She nods. “We don’t get this much business,” she admits, “and we’re going to start on this order today.” She waves the order sheet she just filled out for the bridal shower.

“Sounds great,” he says, pulling out his phone to text August on the news.

He pays up the total and steps outside. He looks down the street and sees Luna and Archie at one of the trees, Luna reaching up to get a maple leaf. She manages to pluck an orange one and waves when she sees Jughead.

Jug walks over, small box in his hand. 

“What’s that?” she asks immediately.

“A present for you.”

She starts bouncing on Archie’s back, and Archie laughs. “You’re gonna spoil her,” he chides. He kneels down and Luna hops off, and starts jumping.

Jughead isn’t sure the anticipation is going to be at good as the payoff, but he hands the box over, and Luna opens it. “You got me one!” she says.

Archie looks in the box. “More sugar,” he says teasingly. 

“Yeah, but most of it is in the strawberry.”

“Can I eat it now, Papa?” Luna asks.

“Better get to it before it melts,” he says nodding, and Luna bites into it, juices running down her chin. She hums in delight. 

“It’s good!” she says, mouth full.

Archie smiles. “Chew and swallow your food, then talk, Lulu,” he says.

She nods.

Archie looks at Jughead. “Where to next?”

“I’ve got to look at some places for a bridal shower,” Jughead says. “Most of them are on this street, actually.”

“Well, let’s go,” Archie says, and they walk down the street, Luna finishes her strawberry and holds both their hands when they cross the street.

The Wine Loft is too stuffy, the Maple Hall too close to home, and the church is too pristine. Archie calls for a lunch break after the church. “Pop Tate’s?” he suggests, and Jughead smiles.

“I’ve been in town for a whole forty eight hours, and I haven’t been to Pop’s, how is this possible?”

“Maybe you’re not you,” Archie says, looking concerned.

“Cup of burned coffee and a burger with the works should fix it.”

They take a booth near the back, and Archie has to refuse Luna a milkshake, “You’ve already had so much sugar already,” he says sadly.

Luna pouts for a minute, kicks the table. Archie leans over and talks to her quietly. She shakes her head, and he kisses her forehead gently. “Deep breaths,” he says, and she exaggeratedly blows air in and out.

Jughead looks at Archie questioningly.

Archie shrugs, “It helps when her emotions get...too big.”

Jughead nods. “She’s extremely well behaved, for a four year old,” he says.

Archie looks at him, wide eyed. “Thank you — but I don’t know if you know many four year olds.”

“I remember Jellybean at this age,” Jughead says. 

“What were you, nine?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, thinking about what Jellybean would say at this setup. Something wry, probably. “Bummed I can’t find the right place for a bridal shower,” he says. “And no, I can’t shoot it over to August, so don’t ask.”

Archie squints. “What are you looking for?”

He shrugs in response. “It’s Betty and Veronica. Like you said, what do you get…”

“Right.”

Jughead stuffs fries in his mouth, looking at Archie. He opens his mouth to say something, but remembers Archie telling Luna not to do the same. He swallows. “Where would you want your wedding shower?”

Archie hums, looking at Luna. “It wouldn’t matter much to me. Somewhere, comfortable?”

Jughead looks at Luna, still blowing breaths between bites of chicken strips. “I mean, the wedding itself is in the preserve,” he says. 

“Why not something that’s meaningful?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like they haven’t had memories at every place in this town.”

Archie hums, sees that Luna is done with her lunch and hands her his phone. “Bridal shower at the school would be weird,” he says. He looks at Jughead. “When do you think they realized,” he asks, “you know, that they were in love?”

Jughead snorts. “You mean you don’t know?” He leans forward, “Betty knew at the age of seventeen, if you can believe it.”

Archie frowns. “While you two were dating?”

Jughead nods. “We were surprisingly honest with each other for that age,” he says. “She was, get this, afraid Veronica didn’t feel the same way.”

Archie smirks. “I mean, I understand the feeling,” he says, “but the idea that Betty thought that then,” he shakes his head. 

“What, did Ronnie also confess her feelings to you?”

“Not while we were dating,” he says. “But yeah, right in that booth, actually,” Archie points behind Jughead. “She was a mess.” He pauses. “We all were.”

Jughead looks at Archie. “Betty told me here, too.”

Archie takes a sip of water. “Why not here, then?”

“What, at Pop’s?” 

Archie shrugs. “Just an idea,” he says.

“A good one,” Jughead replies. He smiles, Archie returning the gesture. “I’ll go talk to whoever’s in charge.” He slides out of the booth, and walks up to the register. He might as well pay while he’s up front. 

Pop Tate had retired a while back, and while that makes Jughead feel old, it’s nothing in comparison to the waitress, whose face he doesn’t recognize. He asks the waitress to speak to the manager, and she writes down Jughead’s information to call later.

This town has changed so much without Jughead, without his permission.

But the more time he spends in Riverdale, the more it feels like home, like somewhere he’d like to be, rather than someplace he left behind.

He darts a glance over at Archie. He still feels something for Archie, it’s obvious in the way he was aroused in the truck. That doesn’t happen for Jughead unless there’s a connection, he learned that the hard way.

It’s clear to him that he’s not designed for flings, for weekend dalliances, but at the same time, he shuts himself off before he can let anyone in. And while he wants to say that it wouldn’t happen with Archie, it already has. 

Jughead wasn’t willing to talk about why he left.

It’s Scout all over again.

Jughead frowns as he pays for the meal, then pulls out his phone. 

He thumbs down his messages until he reaches Scout’s name. She would know, if anyone did, what went wrong. 

Jughead feels sick, but he’s got to dredge it up before he can go any farther. He texts: _Can we talk tonight?_ and shoves the phone in his pocket to go back to the booth.

 

When Jughead finally gets back to The Pembrooke, his phone starts buzzing with a phone call.

He looks: Scout Ivey.

“Hey,” he answers, and sits down on an overstuffed couch.

“Hey yourself,” Scout says. She sounds dubious.

“Look, thanks for calling, I’m -” _realizing I never put a hundred percent into our relationship? Still in love with Archie Andrews?_ There’s not a guidebook for this. “Sorry,” he lands on, laying down and taking off his hat, running fingers through dark hair.

“For what?” Scout asks. 

“All of it,” Jughead admits, flinching. “I’m an asshole.”

“Look, as fun as it would be for you to flagellate yourself on the phone with me, I know.”

“That I’m an asshole?” he croaks.

Scout barks a laugh. “Well, I mean, yes, but I am too. I pushed you when you weren’t ready.”

“You had every reason to,” Jughead says. “You were right, I-” he swallows. “I was holding myself back.”

Scout sighs. “Fair enough,” she says. “But can I ask why you’re really calling me?” This is why Jughead loved Scout. She had a no-nonsense way about her, a cut and dry look at the world that appealed to him.

“I’m in my hometown for Betty and Veronica’s wedding,” he says. Scout hums in response. “And I ran into someone, and it’s bringing up a lot of shit, and,” he runs a hand over his face, shaking. “And I don’t want to make a mistake this time.”

“Jughead Jones, that’s not like you,” Scout says, worried. “You met someone new?”

“No, I mean,” he blows out a blustery sigh. “Archie. I ran into Archie.”

Scout coughs. “Andrews? That hometown boy you pined over from twelve to today?”

Jughead wants to offer a rebuttal, but it’s true. “Yeah,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “And I ran into him, and it’s like, it never went away? Like, I saw him and I was sixteen all over again.”

“Old flames can do that,” she says.

“But he’s a friend.”

“Obviously he’s not, if you’re calling your ex to have a what-went-wrong conversation.”

_Shit_.

“I want to go for it, but there’s so much in the way, and I don’t want Archie out of my life again.” Jughead looks up at the ceiling, the chandelier hanging above him. 

“Jughead,” Scout says, sighing. “I can tell you what happened with us, but that’s not going to prevent bad shit happening in another relationship. You’re going to make mistakes, and so is he, it’s kind of inevitable.”

“So what do I do?” Jughead asks, bone tired, suddenly. 

“Get a therapist,” she says. “Talk to Archie about what’s going on. Open up.” There’s a long stretch of silence. “This is a good start.”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t love you,” he says.

“I know,” Scout replies, sounding sad. “I know you loved me Jughead, you just,” she pauses, “you weren’t ready and I was.”

“Right,” he says. “Thanks for talking to me about it.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” she asks lightly. Then, “What are you gonna do about it?”

“I guess, talk to him.” Even though the idea fills him with dread, there’s the small butterfly of hope in his chest that it’ll work out. 

“Good luck, Jones,” she says.

“Thanks,” Jughead laughs. 

He hangs up after they exchange goodbyes, and gets his laptop out, ready to start work on emails, and his phone buzzes.

He picks it up, curious. It’s Archie. _Hey, I know your birthday is like two weeks out, but how would you feel about celebrating early?_

_No parties_ , Jughead types out.

_No, I have a better idea_ , Archie replies.

_Okay, when?_

_Tomorrow? I can rework it if that’s too soon_.

Jughead bites his lip. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to tell Archie. _Sure, just let me know when and where._

Archie doesn’t reply for a while, so Jughead sets his phone down. He’s halfway through typing a scathing letter to Trisha, his publicist, about the editing of his book and how she can’t take out the fourth chapter when his phone buzzes again.

He picks it up, and Archie’s sent a video.

It’s Luna, her arms crossed, pouting. “You have to read it like Juggie!” she whines to Archie, and the camera shakes. 

“Tell Jughead to come over and read a book to you,” Archie says, amusement in his voice.

“Juggie, come read, please?” Luna asks, and Jughead’s heart clenches.

“Anything else you want to say to Jughead?”

Luna considers for a minute. “Papa can’t read right,” she says, and the sound of Archie’s laughter fills the speakers.

The video ends.

_You’ve ruined my daughter_ , Archie texts.

Jughead feels warm and happy. _Impossible_ , he replies, and holds the phone to his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Jughead gets a call from Trisha the next afternoon, who is telling him to calm down about chapter four. “I’m going to bat for you; for this book. Don’t get mad at _me_ , okay?”

“Whatever,” Jughead sighs. “Just make sure it doesn’t get cut.”

“I’ll push for it,” she says. 

Jughead hangs up, and hits his head against the back of the couch. 

As much as he’d like to put everything on hold for his book, he has part of a wedding to plan. He has to come up with a back up plan if Pop’s falls through, and still has the bachelorette party to plan.

Of course, the bridal party is really just Betty, Veronica, and himself. 

He lifts his phone off his chest and texts Archie: _Where would you want your bachelor party?_

He doesn’t expect an answer right away, but gets one. _Hard pass._

Jughead laughs. _You mean you’re not up for a night of debauchery?_

 _Only with the person I’m getting married to_ , Archie replies.

Okay, Jughead thinks, blushing, walked into that one. _You might be onto something there,_ Jughead types. _What’s the name of that yoga spa retreat in town?_

_Shanti Spa?_

_That’s the one._

Archie types something, then deletes it. Jughead tilts his head, waiting for Archie’s reply.

 _They’re not known for debauchery either_ , he finally says.

_It’s either that, or my treehouse and I make Veronica camp out the night before she gets married._

_It’s funny that you mention a treehouse…_ and a picture of wood in a pile, a ladder next to a tree.

 _You’re building Luna a treehouse?_ Jughead types.

_Hey, after a couple of summers building, I think I can do this! Besides, I got Dad to look it over._

_Is this my birthday surprise?_

Archie sends an emoji rolling its eyes. _You’re more than welcome to come over and help,_ he says. _122 Maple, yellow house on the left._

Jughead considers this. Aside from booking places, what else does he have to do? He shrugs. _See you in 20_.

Jughead climbs into the BMW and gets a call from Pop’s, telling him they’d be honored to host a bridal shower for him, and he irons out the details sitting in the car.

He calls Shanti Spa, and books a full day spa treatment for Veronica and Betty after hanging up with Pop’s. He realizes he’s still sitting in the car, and looking through his email, trying to avoid heading over to Archie’s.

He takes a deep breath and starts up the car, hoping that he won’t get in the way of himself this time. 

He finds the house and parks behind the familiar truck on the street. Walking up to the house, Jughead finds himself becoming increasingly nervous. _It’s just Archie_ , he thinks, and knocks on the door.

No one answers. Frowning, Jughead pulls out his phone and texts Archie: _I’m here, did I just miss you?_ He knocks again. 

His phone buzzes. _Hang on_ , he reads.

The door opens to Archie, sweaty and smiling, flannel shirt open to a white tank top. He’s got a tool belt on, and is loosely holding his phone. “Sorry,” he says, unaware of Jughead’s staring, “Dad took Luna for the day, it’ll just be us.”

“That’s okay,” Jughead replies, stepping into the space Archie just left. “I was kind of looking forward to hanging with Luna again, though.”

Archie beams at him. “She’s a great kid,” he says.

“She’s got a great dad,” Jughead replies. 

Archie ducks his head and blushes. “I hope I do okay,” he says. He ducks out of the way of Jughead’s playful fist. “I’m not going to brag about my parenting skills, Jughead.” 

“Whatever.”

“Come on, you can help me nail things together.”

Jughead follows Archie through the small house, to outside where lumber is in piles. “Did you want to finish this today?”

“Yeah right,” Archie laughs. “I want to get the supports up, maybe the platform if I have enough time.”

“Okay, that sounds reasonable,” Jughead says. “Tell me what to do.”

Archie gets him measuring and sawing off two by fours, much to Jughead’s dismay. “Can’t you give me a real job?” 

Archie gives him a teasing once over that heats Jughead up faster than alcohol could ever do. “You’re a city boy, wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

“You want to repeat that? I am holding a saw, you know,” Jughead says, willing himself not to shake. Not to blush.

“Come over here and help steady this beam,” Archie says, changing the subject. 

Jughead does, and tries not to look at Archie’s bulging muscles, but then looks at his strong hands, so he tries to look somewhere safe, like Archie’s face, but even that proves difficult. Archie drills into the beam, focused on the job, like Jughead should be.

The afternoon passes by, and after the platform is up and leveled, Archie calls it a day. “I gotta take a shower before I take you to your birthday surprise,” he says, pulling his wet shirt off.

Jughead turns around, his face red. “Great, I’ll be the stinky one.”

“You always did like being different,” Archie laughs, walking down the hallway. Jughead stays in the kitchen, willing himself to calm down. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, maybe to ask Betty for help — surely she knew a way to combat shirtless Archie — when something soft hits the side of his face. 

“Hey!” he shouts automatically, turning. He looks down to see that Archie’s thrown a towel at him.

Archie’s got his arms crossed, leaning against the wall leading to the hallway. He smirks. “There’s a bathroom down this hall, come on,” he says. 

Jughead picks the towel up and follows Archie to the bathroom, pointedly not looking at Archie’s bare back, the dimples leading into his jeans just over his ass.

“I’ll be upstairs,” Archie says at the door. “I’ve mastered the three minute shower with Luna around, yell if you need anything.”

“Soap and stuff?” Jughead asks.

“It’s nothing fancy, just some of my old products,” Archie says, bashful for some reason.

“Thanks, Arch,” Jughead says, and Archie nods and closes the door.

Jughead strips out of his clothes and turns the shower on. The water runs cold for a minute, but heats up soon enough. As soon as he’s in, though, there’s a knock on the door. Jughead’s already wet from head to toe. “Yeah?” he shouts.

“Hey,” Archie says, cracking the door open. “I forgot to give you a washcloth. Are you... decent?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jughead replies, and then he pokes his head out from behind the curtain. Archie is looking at him, wide-eyed. “You okay?” he asks, reaching for the offered washcloth.

“Yep!” Archie croaks, then clears his throat. “Never better, see you soon, bye!” He shoves the washcloth in Jughead’s hand and hustles out the door.

Jughead frowns. _That was weird_ , he thinks. 

He finishes his shower in record time, thinking about anything but Archie upstairs, doing the same. 

He’s dried himself off when he realizes: he doesn’t have any clothes. He wraps the towel around his waist and walks out the door, and into the kitchen. “Archie?” he calls, and sees him sitting at the island, sipping a drink and reading something.

“Hey,” Archie says, and then looks up. “You’re still naked,” he states flatly.

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you, all knowing one. I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me. Got anything?”

Archie is still staring at him, a small dent between his brows. When he doesn’t reply, Jughead snaps his fingers.

“Hey, buddy,” he says.

“What?” Archie asks, looking like a puppy. “Sorry, I was daydreaming - thinking, you know,” he waves a hand in front of his face. “Spaced out.”

Jughead squints at him. “Okay,” he drawls, “Clothes?”

“I’ll go see,” Archie says getting up. “Obviously not everything is going to fit you.”

Jughead shrugs. “I can sneak into The Pembrooke and get some of my stuff.”

Archie laughs, his eyes crinkling. “I’d pay to see that,” he says, then walks up the stairs, presumably to get Jughead some clothes. 

Jughead grips his towel in the ever growing cold of the house, and studies the fridge, letter magnets and pictures of Luna, drawings she’s done of her family. Jughead looks closely at the last one, two figures holding hands at the bottom, one with curly brown hair, and one with a scribble of red. Luna and Archie. Then at the top right corner, two other figures holding hands, standing on a cloud. Jughead frowns, thinking that must be Val and Reggie. 

Jughead knows that family doesn’t always mean the nuclear unit of male, female, and children, but it makes him wonder what if. What if Val and Reggie didn’t die in that car crash, what if Archie wasn’t a dad, what if Jughead came back to a completely different family?

“Hey,” Archie says from behind him, and Jughead turns. Archie has an armful of clothes, and is looking at him questioningly.

“Just looking at some of Luna’s drawings,” Jughead says, taking the clothes. “She’s quite the artist.”

“She loves to color,” Archie agrees. “She’ll probably be an architect when she grows up.”

“Or a lawyer,” Jughead says, “judging by the way she can wrap you around her finger.”

Archie rolls his eyes. “Ha ha,” he says drolly. “Remind me, who was it that bought her a chocolate covered strawberry yesterday?”

Jughead looks down at the clothes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says primly, and walks back to the bathroom to change into Archie’s clothes, listening to the sound of Archie’s delighted laughter.

Jughead changes into Archie’s sweatpants, undershirt, and flannel before taking a look at himself in a mirror. The clothes lay on him loosely, the sweatpants sliding down his hips, and the flannel he’s swimming in. He looks comfortable, like he _belongs_. It’s an odd feeling, like seeing himself in a different light. 

He tilts his head and grabs his beanie, jamming it on his head before gathering his old clothes and carrying them out of the bathroom. “Got a bag?” he asks, coming back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, sure,” Archie says, opening the pantry door and pulling out a flimsy, plastic bag with “thank you” written on it.

“Thanks,” Jughead says, and puts his clothes in the bag. “Ready to drive me to The Pembrooke and make all the rich folks gawk?”

“I’ve waited my whole life for you to ask me this,” Archie replies, holding a hand to his chest.

“Shut up,” Jughead tells him, smiling and rolling his eyes. He puts his boots back on, no socks. He looks over at Archie.

“Okay, but you can’t look in the bed of the truck,” Archie says, pointing.

Jughead raises his hands. “Promise.”

Archie smiles.

They walk out to the truck in silence, and Jughead climbs in, thankful that Archie has removed the Luna’s booster seat. He buckles in, having to move some of the baggy clothing to the side to click in.

Archie gets in and starts the truck up. Music blasts out, and Archie turns it down. 

Jughead frowns, and sees that Archie retrofitted the radio for a bluetooth system. “Wow,” he says. “Never thought I’d see the day. You put in a sound system that’s not just the radio?”

“Ha ha,” Archie says sarcastically. “They don’t play ‘Barbie Dreamhouse Adventures’ on the radio, so I had this one put in.” He looks over and frowns. “You didn’t notice yesterday?”

Jughead didn’t. He was distracted by Archie’s hand in between his thighs. “I was talking to Luna the whole time,” he says, a distraction from the real question.

Archie looks adorably confused, but shrugs it off. 

“Working on any songs right now?” Jughead asks, trying not to fiddle with his hands. He’s nervous, but there’s no reason to be. It’s Archie, the guy who was his best friend for all of Jughead’s childhood. Sure, Jughead has feelings for him, but he needs to deal with that like an adult. But later.

He looks over to see Archie’s blushing, and he’s got a stilted face. 

“Sore subject?” Jughead ventures.

“No,” Archie squeaks, clearly a lie. He was always terrible at it. Archie clears his throat. “I’ve gotten some new inspiration recently, and Ronnie asked me to sing something at their wedding.”

“That’s cool,” Jughead says. “An old one?”

Archie bites his lip and shifts in his seat. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Jughead tells him, feeling a little put out. They were fine all this afternoon. Maybe Archie was still being shy.

Archie exhales a shaky breath. “No, I should be able to, it’s just,” he shrugs, “It feels weird to talk about it, like, it’s one thing to sit down and write some song about my deepest emotion, but it’s entirely different trying to normalize it, talk about it like it’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t have to,” Jughead tells him. “If it’s a big deal to you, let it be a big deal.” 

“Yeah, but then that makes it weird.” He grimaces, “I don’t know, it’s like, telling a secret to the whole world, but then they have follow up questions.”

“That’s tough,” Jughead says. “For me, it’s like, I write something, hand over information and probable suspects, and my editor wants more information to give out about my love life.”

Archie huffs a laugh as he pulls up to The Pembrooke. “A different sort of invasion.” 

“Right.” Jughead peers up at the building, “And now for walking through one of the ritziest places in town like I had an afternoon quickie.” He turns to laugh with Archie, let him be in on the joke, but instead Archie is again, beet red. Jugheads laughs anyways, and gets out of the truck. “Back in five,” he says, and shuts the door.

He shuffles past the doorman, giving a brief wave, and to the elevator doors. He’s almost to his suite when the door across the hall opens. August. 

“Well, well,” August says, apparently incapable of not being sassy, “Look what the cat dragged in.” 

Jughead slowly turns to shoot August a laser focused glare, but August continues, oblivious. “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a strapping redhead we know, would it?” 

Jughead rolls his eyes. “None of your business,” he says to August, who is now wandering to the hallway window. “But what is your business, I got the bridal shower and bachelorette party locked down.”

“Oh good,” August says, looking out the window. He, unnecessarily, stands on his tiptoes to look. He turns back around, smug, and places his hands on his hips. “Looks like Frosty Green is outside waiting. What’s this all about?”

“He’s waiting for me to change my clothes,” Jughead tells him flatly.

“Oh obviously,” August says, rolling his eyes. “I meant _why_.”

Jughead turns, opens the door and slams it in August’s face. He changes as fast as he can, grabbing his phone cord to charge in Archie’s truck, and walks out, pleased to see August is gone. 

He texts Archie that he’s on his way, and makes his way back towards the elevators. His good mood sours at seeing August again, leaning on Archie’s truck and talking. 

Jughead doesn’t stomp, but it’s a close thing. “Hey August,” he says, and August turns, smiling deviously. _Okay,_ Jughead thinks, _point goes to August._

“Hey Jughead,” August purrs, not stepping away from the truck. “Archie and I were catching up.”

“Great,” Jughead says. “That took all of one minute, I’m sure.”

“Anyways,” August continues blithely, “Archie was telling me about your surprise, but won’t say what it is, or what it’s for.”

“The scamp,” Jughead deadpans.

Archie snorts.

August blows out a gusty sigh. “Alright, be elusive, but I will get to the bottom of this.” He steps away from the truck, allowing Jughead to get in. “Have fun boys!”

Jughead has never rolled up a crank window so fast in his whole life.

Archie laughs, putting the truck into gear and pulling out onto the road. “August is, uh,” Archie clears his throat, “has quite the personality,” he lands on.

“Well,” Jughead says jokingly, “Betty tells me he’s single, so you’re in the clear.”

Archie chokes on nothing, his face turning red. “Um, not my type, thank you,” he says.

“Ever the boy next door,” Jughead says, leaning on the door and looking at him; squinting.

“Hey!” Archie says, predictably affronted. “I’m not the boy next door.”

Jughead laughs, and it sounds a little hollow even to his own ears, “I’m sorry, man next door?”

Archie rolls his eyes. “No, I just mean, I’m not as cookie cutter as you like to think I am, Jughead.”

“Oh really?” Jughead drawls, crossing his arms. “I know almost everything there is to know about you, Archie Andrews. And you’re about as cut and dry as it gets.”

Archie scowls at him.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, just-” Jughead uncrosses his arms and shrugs, tugging at his jacket sleeves, “you know what you’re going to get when you’re with Archie.”

Now Archie looks confused. “You mean you like that I don’t have secrets? Because I do,” he continues. 

“Birthday surprises don’t count.”

Now it’s Archie’s turn to roll his eyes. “No, I mean, there’s things you don’t know about me, Jughead.”

“Oh come on,” Jughead teases.

“It’s been twelve years, man. Things change. People change.” _I’ve changed_ , Archie doesn’t say.

The twelve years remark stings a little, because it’s true, Jughead dropped the ball. He didn’t pick up the phone like was supposed to, didn’t text, didn’t keep up with anyone in Riverdale. And other than the few odd mentionings of news from Betty or Veronica, Jughead wouldn’t know anything at all.

Jughead frowns at this. “Archie,” he says, but doesn’t know how to finish.

Archie’s eyes are still on the road. “It’s fine, Jughead.” 

“It’s really not.” Jughead sighs. “I’m sorry. I left Riverdale, thinking I would leave all my baggage there, and then I just left everything.”

“You needed a fresh start.”

“Don’t do that!” Jughead says sharply. “Don’t make excuses for me.” He looks over at Archie. “I want to apologize,” he says.

“Okay,” Archie says. 

Jughead blinks. Maybe Archie doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to accept his apology. “I’m sorry I cut you out of my life, Archie,” he says.

Archie darts a glance over at him. Bites his lip.

God, maybe Jughead _doesn’t_ know everything about Archie Andrews. 

“I forgive you,” Archie says, and Jughead takes in the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Jughead feels small, childish. He’s not pouting, he’s an adult.

“Jughead, I didn’t call you either,” Archie says. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“I’m not, I’m just.” He sighs, looks out the window at the city turning into the woods. “I’m just now realizing that I put you in a corner.”

“And nobody puts baby in a corner,” Archie says, smiling. He stops when he sees Jughead’s face. “I’m trying to lighten the mood, Jug, geez.”

“I’m being serious!”

“I know!”

Jughead blows out a frustrated sigh, and Archie gently pulls the truck over on the shoulder of the road. 

Archie puts the truck in park, and turns the engine off. He turns to Jughead. “We were young, we were stupid, and now we’re sorry.”

Jughead looks at him, still frowning. “I thought you said you were ready to talk about it.”

Archie shrugs. “Guess I wasn’t.” He puts an arm on the back of the seat, his fingers close to Jughead’s neck. “I’m not perfect, Jughead. I know you know that.”

Jughead’s eyebrows go in for a second. “I know,” he says quietly.

“I feel like,” Archie says, and it sounds rehearsed, like he’s said it before, “you’re making me a martyr for your emotions.”

Jughead is stunned. “What?”

“Just,” Archie sighs. “I feel like you’re trying to make my life sound harder than it is, in order to make you feel worse about yourself. And I don’t like that, because I _love_ my life. You didn’t do anything wrong. We were eighteen.

“That’s how I feel,” Archie restates. He looks at Jughead expectantly. Waves his hand a little, brushing Jughead’s hair accidently. “Now _you_ make an ‘I feel’ statement.”

Jughead takes in a shaky breath. “I feel,” he starts, “like I abandoned you.”

Archie squints at him. “I’m my own person, Jughead.”

“Yeah, but we were pretty codependent at the time.”

“True,” Archie concedes. “Look, this is going to sound weird-”

“Oh boy-”

“But I’m glad you left.” He holds up his hands, shifts to fully face Jughead, the leather seat creaking. “Hang on. I’m glad you left, because if you hadn’t I wouldn’t have figured out things the way I did. I wouldn’t have written those songs, I wouldn’t have been so close with Josie and Val, and I wouldn’t have Luna.” Archie looks at him, pleadingly, and Jughead can hardly argue with that tactic. 

“I missed you, Jughead, I can’t say that I didn’t. But you needed your own space; you had your own dreams you had to follow, and I wasn’t part of that.”

“So you just want to pick up where we left off?” Jughead asks. 

Archie pulls his hand back and rubs the back of his neck. “No, more like, I’d like to get to know you as a whole new person. Just, one I have a lot of background research on.”

Jughead considers this. “So we’re still friends?” he says.

“Of course,” Archie replies. “Friends.”

Jughead swallows down the protest that he wants more than that, that he wants all of Archie. But he knows Archie’s criminally straight. And Jughead will take any piece of Archie he can get. He’s not sure when or if he should tell Archie the whole truth, that he has romantic feelings for him, and even rarer for Jughead, sexual feelings for him. 

But if Archie wants to be friends, then Jughead shouldn’t tell him how he feels, right?


	5. Chapter 5

Archie starts the truck again and pulls onto the road, and they drive further into the woods. Jughead darts a couple of glances over at Archie, rehashing their conversation in his head. 

Friends. 

That’s the label Jughead has comfortably worn for most of his life, and now, Archie cemented it. It’s not terrible, being Archie’s friend. He’s kind, caring, and has a savior complex, and not much confidence in his skills.

Jughead is none of those things, but somehow that draws him to Archie even more. 

But Jughead still wants to know what it’s like to be the sole focus of Archie’s attention, to be the reason Archie smiles, or be the person that finally gets it through Archie’s head that he’s good enough, more than enough. 

While he’s musing, the woods thin out, and Archie pulls onto a dirt and gravel lot, a giant screen in the back of the clearing. There’s one other car here, and just as Archie parks the truck, someone walks out of the projection booth. 

“Hey Archie!” she calls, beaming. 

Archie gets out, and Jughead follows, stunned. Is this what Archie planned?

“I was about to call you, I was afraid you crashed somewhere.” As Jughead gets closer, he realizes it’s Ethel Muggs. She waves at him. “Hey Jughead, good to see you.”

“You too,” Jughead says, still in a daze. “You run this place?” he asks.

“Yeah, bought a few years back for dirt cheap, kinda renovating it now.” Ethel shrugs. “It’s no Bijou, but-”

“No, it’s great,” he says honestly. He wants to ask why no one is here on a Sunday night, perfect for watching a double feature, but doesn’t in fear that Ethel will get embarrassed.

She seems to pick up on his confused look anyway. “Archie rented the place for the night,” she says. “I’ll start the projector and leave. You remember how to turn it off?” she asks Archie. 

“Yep. I’ll call you if I forget.”

“Do,” she says firmly. “This is my baby.” Ethel thumbs back towards the booth. “I’ll go ahead and get started. See you guys later.”

She walks back across the gravel, and suddenly Jughead can’t stop staring at Archie. “You rented the drive in?” he asks.

Archie turns back towards the truck, so Jughead can’t see his expression. “Yeah, Ethel owes me a favor, so I cashed it in,” he says. “It’s not a big deal.” He turns the radio on, and opens Jughead’s door. 

Jughead can’t help but feel it is a big deal. 

And then Archie gets into the bed of the truck and starts shuffling things around. Curious, Jughead peers in, only to see a picnic basket, several blankets, and a couple of pillows. 

Archie looks up at him. “The snack shack is closed, so I brought dinner.”

“Okay,” Jughead says, trying to keep his voice level. “Thank you. This is great.”

Archie smiles. “You haven’t seen the feature presentation yet.” He holds his hand out for Jughead to grab. “C’mon.”

Jughead takes his hand and pulls himself up into the bed of the truck. He sits down, the shocks rocking the truck a bit, and looks in the basket. “You didn’t bring beer, did you?”

“Ha ha,” Archie says flatly, unfolding a blanket. “I brought water, wine, and root beer, because I’m not sure what you like these days.”

“Yeah,” Jughead says quietly. “Honestly, I’ll just have root beer, if that’s okay.”

“It’s why I brought it,” Archie replies, sitting down. “I’ll have the same.” He pulls two out of the cooler, and hands one to Jughead, before twisting the top off.

Jughead follows, and then Archie reaches back and slides the tiny window of the cab open. The crackling of film starts, and Jughead turns his attention to the screen. It begins: the bang of drums in surf music, and the title appears: Horror of Party Beach.

“Oh my God,” Jughead says, mouth agape. “You rented the worst horror musical in all of American film history?”

“Yep,” Archie says, popping the p, and then smiling at him. “Happy early birthday, Juggie.” His eyes are warm in the light of the setting sun, golden and whiskey brown.

Jughead’s heart pulls at this. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s just what I wanted.”

Archie beams, then pulls a drink from his rootbeer, turning back to the screen. A few minutes pass, and Ethel steps out of the booth and silently gets in her car to drive off. 

Jughead has his attention on the film, the terrible music, the nonsensical plot, and the sea zombies. It’s something he used to watch with Jellybean back in the day, another in joke they shared, and when he showed it to Archie, he was nervous.

Archie just watched and accepted, and that’s what Jughead loved — loves about Archie. His acceptance of Jughead, and his vibrancy, his anger, even. Jughead knows Archie has flaws, and he knows that some people, like his parents did, love each other despite the other’s flaws, but Jughead? Jughead loves Archie because of his flaws. His unthinking, headfirst, self righteous ways in seeking justice, Jughead loves that. 

This Archie, though. This is an Archie that says he’s not what Jughead remembers. Of course people change, it’s the nature of time. But that leaves the question: what has changed?

There’s Luna, that’s the big one, and a change that Jughead refuses to be anything other than happy about for Archie. Val and Reggie were gone, and no amount of sorrow could bring them back, but Jughead is glad that Archie stepped in and took Luna. 

Jughead is so caught up in his thoughts he misses most of the carnage in the movie, and when the song “Summer Love” starts playing Jughead pulls up one of the blankets to wrap around his chest.

“You cold?” Archie asks, and Jughead shrugs. 

“It’s September, man,” he says. 

Archie’s response is to scoot closer to Jughead, and drape an arm around him. Jughead tries not to stiffen up, feeling distinctly like he’s in high school again, not knowing what to do, but Archie gives him a tiny shake and Jughead loosens up, leaning into Archie’s warm chest.

This feels like a date, but Jughead does not want to bring that up. It would be very Archie-like to set something up for him without checking any of the social norms or cues for what constitutes as a friendly outing. A _just friends_ outing.

Jughead watches as the movie rolls on, half listening to the thud of Archie’s heart. Jughead sighs and moves closer, awkwardly nestling himself under Archie’s arm.

The night passes, and Jughead slowly falls asleep under Archie’s arm and the blanket, cozy and warm.

He’s roused awake by Archie moving, and Jughead suddenly feels how cold he is without Archie’s shelter.

“C’mon,” Archie says, getting out of the truck, “I’ve got to turn the projector off and get home, Dad’s bringing Luna over.”

“Okay,” Jughead says, rubbing his face. He gets up stiffly and packs the food and drinks back in the cooler, and is folding the blankets when Archie walks back. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Archie says softly. 

Jughead nods, and gets out of the truck bed before closing the gate. 

The drive back to Archie’s is sleep inducing, and Jughead is jolted awake by Archie again. He yawns, pulls his keys out of his pocket, but before he can move to get out of the car, Archie yanks Jughead’s keys from him.

“Hey!” Jughead says. “I’m not drunk. I can drive.”

“You can either have a cup of coffee and wait thirty minutes, or you can sleep over.” Archie looks serious.

Jughead makes a face, and grabs for the keys, but Archie pulls them away even quicker. “It’s not a negotiation, Jughead,” Archie says.

“I can drive,” Jughead says. “It’s fifteen minutes, tops.”

“It’s how Val and Reggie got in a crash,” Archie says, and Jughead stops.

“What?” he asks quietly. He had assumed a wet road, a drink or two, or something, but — 

“Reggie and Val were coming back from a vacation and decided to do the extra two hours because they wanted to get back home to Luna.” Archie pockets Jughead’s keys. “What’s your decision?”

“I’ll,” Jughead feels at a loss for words, “spend the night, I guess.”

“Good,” Archie says, smiling slightly. “You’ll get your keys back in the morning.”

“Ugh, August is going to have a field day,” Jughead grumbles.

Archie laughs, and opens the front door. Fred is in the living room, reading a book.

“Hey Dad,” Archie says softly.

“Hey kid,” Fred replies, standing up. “Enjoy your night out?” He looks behind Archie to Jughead and raises an eyebrow.

“Jughead fell asleep on the way over,” Archie explains, and the pull of Fred’s mouth confirms everything. 

“I’m staying the night, no worries,” Jughead says, and Fred nods, slowly blinking. 

“She fell asleep half an hour ago,” Fred tells them, and Archie sighs. 

“Was she okay today?”

“Always,” Fred replies. 

“Dad,” Archie says flatly. He looks disbelieving. 

“Okay, she had a breakdown about not getting some soda, but,” he shrugs, “she’s four. She’s a good kid, Archie.”

“I know,” Archie says, running hands through his hair. “I just, what if she…” he stops. Darts a glance over at Jughead, then back to Fred. “Does the worrying ever stop?”

“Nope,” Fred says, smiling slowly. 

“Hey, she’s an Andrews,” Jughead offers in the thick silence. “She’ll be fine.”

Archie looks back at him, hopeful and thankful. Fred grins. 

“Well boys, I gotta get going, big day tomorrow,” he says, and hugs Archie and then grabs Jughead’s shoulder. “Take care of him, alright?” Fred asks, and Jughead nods, even though he doesn’t fully understand. He looks over to Archie to see what it’s about, but Archie’s already gone down the hallway.

“Yeah, I will,” Jughead says, Fred not loosening his grip until Jughead tells him this.

Fred goes over and picks his keys up from the hook by the door. “Later,” he says, and quietly goes outside.

Jughead turns, and Archie is there with linens in his arms. “Okay, I got you some sheets,” he says, setting them on the floor. “And a pillow.”

“Okay,” Jughead says, and together they tuck in the sheets around the couch cushions, cover the pillow and lay the blanket down. “Thanks Archie,” he says, sitting down and pulling his boots off. 

Archie nods. “See you tomorrow,” he whispers, and Jughead lays down, pulling the blanket up around him, shuffling around to pull his phone out of his pocket. He considers texting Betty, but refrains. She’s probably packing and convincing Veronica not to pack everything else. They fly in tomorrow, and the bridal shower is the following day. 

Jughead halfway wishes the wedding were over with already, so he could go back home, to Bushwick. Where nothing and no one waits for him. Except a manuscript. He had to ask his publicist to check on his mail. Mail was waiting, and Jughead can’t imagine it’s anything good or fun.

The only people he knows in the city are Betty and Veronica and Jellybean. And Scout, and her friends. But Jughead never made the effort to reach out beyond his boundaries. To make new friends. For a long time, his tiny circle was enough. 

And although he knows that Betty and Veronica getting married doesn’t really change anything, it feels like his circle is cut in half. Jellybean is fine on her own, always has been. And Jughead thought he was the same, but it seems that he’s been lying to himself. 

He sighs, turning over to face the back of the couch, tucks his feet into the spaces between the cushion. He falls asleep, letting the scent of lavender and linen lure him, pulling him away from thoughts of his loneliness.

He wakes up to a shuffling sound, and blurrily, Jughead rolls over, the soft light of morning fills the room.

Luna is in her pajamas, purple and covered in Hello Kitty, clutching a blue blanket.

“Hey,” Jughead says, his voice rough. “Do you need something?” He rubs a hand over his face. 

Luna shakes her head and sticks a thumb in her mouth. 

“What is it?” Jughead asks.

“Papa’s asleep, I’m hungry,” Luna says, pulling her thumb out and then grabbing Jughead’s arm. “Do you know how to make pancakes?” she asks. 

“I can follow a recipe,” Jughead tells her as he gets off the couch. His hip is sore. He groans, rubbing the spot, and walks over to the kitchen. “Do you know where anything is?” he asks her.

“What do you need?” Luna shrugs.

“Um, pancake mix? A large bowl and spoon, at least.”

Luna walks over to the cabinet doors, blanket dragging behind her, and opens the pantry. “The cheez-its live here,” she says, a tone of wonder in her voice.

Jughead laughs, and looks on the higher shelves, where sure enough, all the carb filled snacks are. Luckily, lower down is the box of pancake mix and he picks it up to read the instructions.

“Okay Luna,” he says. “Where do the large bowls live?”

She totters over, and opens a lower cabinet door and points. He pulls out the largest mixing bowl.

“Great, you’ve been an amazing helper,” he tells her. She beams.

Jughead smiles back and sets the bowl and the box on the counter. He reads the box and is on his way to the fridge to get the eggs and milk when he hears Luna giggle. “What?” he asks, turning around. 

Archie is there, hair tousled from sleep, tickling Luna.

“Papa!” she says, “stop!”

Archie stops, and kisses the top of her head. “I see you’ve roped Jughead into Monday morning pancakes,” he teases.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Jughead shrugs.

Archie laughs. “Okay,” he says, crossing his arms, “I’d like five pancakes, please.”

Jughead points at him. “Pancakes are for people who help,” he says.

“Alright, little red hen,” Archie drawls. “You mix, I’ll flip?”

Jughead shrugs and Archie walks around the counter to get out the pan.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Jughead asks as Archie lights the stove. 

“Luna has preschool today,” Archie replies. “She usually gets there around nine or so, then I have a few lessons.”

“Betty and Veronica get in today,” Jughead says, cracking an egg, and Archie smiles. 

“It’ll be good to see them,” he replies, walking over to the fridge. 

“Can I stir?” Luna asks, and Jughead agrees, pushes the bowl towards Luna. 

“We got to pour in milk first, though,” Jughead tells her, and he measures out the liquid and gives it to Luna to pour in. 

“All of it?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Jughead says, and watches as she dumps all of it in, the milk splashing in the bowl. “Okay, now mix it up really well.”

Luna starts stirring, a determined look on her face.

Jughead steps back. “Where’s the coffee in this joint?” he asks.

Archie huffs a laugh. “Here, you stand guard at the skillet, I’ll make coffee.” He steps back, letting Jughead move in, their arms brushing. 

Jughead looks down at the counter, a stick of butter that Archie pulled from the fridge there. He cuts off a bit and puts it in the skillet, and it slowly bubbles. 

He looks and Luna is still stirring, big lumps of eggs and flour still yet to be mixed, so he turns his attention to Archie. Archie, who’s hair is still distractingly tousled. It makes Jughead want to run his fingers through Archie’s red hair, sling his arms around those shoulders and trace the shape of Archie’s jaw with his lips. Or be pressed up against Archie, feeling the shape of his body, letting strong arms hold him.

Fuck, Jughead’s screwed. Or, he thinks despairingly, wishes he was being screwed. 

“My arm is tired,” Luna whines, and Jughead laughs, brought back to the present. He gently takes the bowl from Luna and stirs the rest of the batter, and turns to the pan, pouring two circles.

Luna watches him, talks about bubbles in pancake batter, and how she wants to wear her Spiderman rain boots today because it’s her friend’s favorite, and that when she turns five Archie will let her paint her own nails. 

“Okay Luna,” Archie says, cutting into her chattering, “let’s go pick out an outfit for today.” He sets a cup of coffee next to Jughead, black. Just how he likes it.

“Can I wear the tutu?” she asks, “I wanna show Juggie.”

“It’s cold out today,” Archie says.

“Papa please?” she asks.

Archie bites his lip. “Okay. But you have to wear your leggings and leg warmers, okay?”

Luna jumps up and down and runs to her room. Archie slides a look over to Jughead. “She knows I’m a sucker,” he says.

Jughead shrugs. “I would’ve caved immediately.”

Archie rolls his eyes. “Flip the pancakes, Jug,” he says, and walks down the hallway to Luna’s room. 

Jughead turns out six pancakes before the two return, and Luna peers around the corner, her hair in two puffs on each side. 

“Close your eyes,” she says.

Jughead claps the hand not holding the spatula over his eyes. 

“Open them!” Luna shouts and Jughead lowers his hand.

Luna twirls around twice, a blur of color, before shouting, “Ta-da!” The tutu is blue, the leggings are green, and the leg warmers are rainbow. And she talked Archie into the Spiderman rain boots. She strikes a pose. “I look like a ballerina boss,” she says.

Jughead laughs. “You do,” he confirms. “And a ballerina boss needs pancakes to start their day.” 

Luna digs in, pouring a wild amount of syrup before Archie catches the bottle, wide eyed. He looks up at Jughead and smiles, and Jughead’s chest clenches in want.

Not just for Archie. But for this family. 

He wants to be in that drawing on the fridge too, he realizes, to be the dark haired scribble standing next to them.

Jughead is so, so screwed.


	6. Chapter 6

Jughead leaves when Archie and Luna head for the door, Monday morning routine kicking in. He checks his watch and drives to The Pembrooke. He has enough time to go in and shower and change. He rubs his chin. A shave too. He definitely doesn’t think about the stubble on Archie’s jaw this morning, red hairs glinting in the sunlight. 

Fuck.

Jughead tries to clear his head before getting out of the car, taking in deep breaths and gripping the steering wheel tightly.

When he feels calm enough he gets out and it’s almost all shot to hell because he sees August across the lobby. Jughead bites down a curse and all but runs to the stairwell, hiding behind several columns as he goes. 

He can’t risk the elevator, that’d take too long. He’s finally to the stairwell door and yanks it open, relieved he bypassed August in this state, and walks up to the second floor to take the elevator. 

He pulls out his phone to see if anyone texted him last night, and there’s one from Betty, telling him her flight information again, as if it’s not in her nightmare wedding binder. 

The elevator door pings, and Jughead walks in, not looking up from his phone. He smells the expensive cologne and sighs.

“Well,” August says, in high spirits apparently, “walk of shame?”

Jughead cuts a look at him. “No.”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t at breakfast this morning,” August says, casually looking at his nails like he’s not nosing into Jughead’s business. “And still in yesterday’s clothes.”

Jughead cuts his eyes to August, and sighs. “You know nothing happened,” he says.

August slumps dramatically. “You know I know that Jughead, but if you could play along,” he says trailing off. 

Jughead thinks his eyes are going to be sore from how much he rolls them around August. “Fine, Archie and I shared a night of passion,” he says flatly. “It was amazing.”

August scowls, and Jughead finally smirks. 

“You’re no fun.”

The elevator dings. Jughead thanks a non-existent deity and pushes out to get to his room, August hot on his heels. 

“I’m picking up Betty at the airport,” August says, at last, down to business. “Would you like to join?”

Jughead desperately wants to see Betty, but August is there. Jughead pauses at his door. “When?”

“In fifteen.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Jughead says, cursing himself, cursing Betty for hiring August in the first place. He has enough time to shower and change, but no time to shave, and his hair is still somewhat damp when he dashes down to the lobby.

August is in his rental, and Jughead slides into the front seat. 

“Okay,” August says, turning the engine over, “Let’s go get one of the brides.”

Jughead grips onto the door handle and tunes out August trying to talk to him. They pull up to the airport, and Jughead doesn’t duck and roll out of a moving vehicle, but it’s close.

Betty is already standing at the road’s edge, typing on her phone, garment bag hanging on her hand and looking luminous. 

“Hey Betty,” he says, and Betty’s eyes widen. 

“Hey,” she says, beaming, and throws her arms around Jughead. The garment bag wacks Jughead’s legs. “It’s been half a week, and I missed you so much,” she says, laughing. 

“Me too,” Jughead says, kissing her cheek. He almost wishes that he was still in love with her. Almost. “Let me get your stuff,” he says, and grabs what’s sure to be her dress from her hand and the luggage next to her.

“It’s so wild to be back here,” she breathes. “I missed this too.”

“I’d like to say nothing’s changed,” he says, walking over to the car where August has popped the trunk. 

The corner of Betty’s lips twitches. “Life moves on.” 

After putting Betty’s luggage in the trunk, Jughead opens the backseat door and guides Betty in. 

“Okay,” August calls from the front, “to the tailors!”

Jughead and Betty click in, and August presses the gas to go. 

The tailor’s is quiet and calm, a Mr. Dreyfuss there to take some of the final alterations and cleaning of Betty’s dress.

Betty goes in the back to change, and when she comes out of the dressing room, she’s beaming. Her wedding gown is the classic white, a rounded, sweetheart neckline and lace quarter sleeves, lace details flowing over the tulle of the skirt.

“Betty, you look amazing,” Jughead breathes.

Betty smiles, her brows going in and up in that motion that means she’s touched. She presses a hand to her heart. “Thank you,” she says, then promptly bursts into tears. 

“Mascara, mascara!” August shouts, leaving the room and Jughead quickly rushes to her side, gently cupping her elbow. 

“Betty, what’s wrong?” he asks, low.

“Nothing!” she sobs. “I’m the luckiest girl in the universe!” she sniffs, and August dashes back into the room to hand her a tissue. She dabs her eyes gently and sniffs, trying to compose herself. 

“Are you saying that… sarcastically?” Jughead asks, and Betty wetly laughs.

She shakes her head. “No!” She cups his face, the cold and wet tissue brushing his ear. “I’m getting married to my best friend in the world.” She lets go to wave at herself. “Me! Betty Cooper; I’m getting married to Veronica. I couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m happy for you,” Jughead says, sincere. 

Betty sobers at this. “I wish you could have this too.”

Jughead darts a glance in August’s direction, where he’s summarily disappeared. He wants to tell Betty to not worry, that while Betty and Veronica were meant to be, maybe that someone wasn’t in the works for Jughead. He wants to have a wedding too. But not just a wedding, but a marriage, a family that’s more than himself and Jellybean. 

Jughead clears his throat. “Maybe,” he shrugs, hoping that will be enough for today, but apparently Betty in wedding mode is not as distracted as he had hoped. Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“I’m okay,” he tells her.

“You’ve been hanging out with Archie,” she says succinctly. “How’s that going?”

Jughead glares. 

Betty points at him and grins in the feral glee of being right. “I knew it.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Knew what, there’s nothing going on.”

Betty crosses her arms; tilts her head. “Okay, nothing’s going on. But last month you wouldn’t even hear about how someone else can make you happy, and now when I bring up the same subject, you’re suddenly open to it?” 

Jughead grits his teeth. 

“And,” she continues, “I know it’s not August because you’ve done nothing but complain about him since day one. I know you, Jughead Jones,” she says with the rise of an eyebrow. “I know your tells, and I bet if Archie Andrews walked into this room right now, you’d be virtually shouting about it.”

Jughead blows out an exasperated sigh. “So?”

“So?” Betty laughs. “Jughead, it’s not a bad thing to be in love.”

“He has a whole life that’s not me,” Jughead says.

“That’s a good thing,” Betty says. “Your whole world doesn’t need to be each other, that’s,” she shrugs, “codependency.”

“What we were.”

“Right.” She pauses. “Is that what you want?”

Jughead shakes his head. “I’ve never had a relationship with someone like this, with a kid.” He raises his hands, warding off the fury that’s sure to come if he doesn’t explain himself. “I love Luna, I just, this is it, isn’t it? If I’m with Archie, there’s no going back, there’s no backing out for me.”

“Why?” Betty asks quietly.

“Because I want it too much,” Jughead answers. “I wouldn’t want to walk away, but if Archie or Luna made that decision… what’s left for me?”

Betty’s lips thin out. “I think,” she says after a moment, “that you should talk to Archie. I mean, actually talk about what you’re feeling.”

Jughead scoffs. “Betty, I know what Archie’s going to say.”

“Oh?” Betty puts her hands on her hips, the tulle and lace swishing from the action.

“He doesn’t want a relationship with me, not like that. Not —” he pauses, “romantically.”

Betty’s eyes widen, her mouth gapes, and her arms go loose, and in that moment August walks back in. 

“Alright, Mr. Dreyfuss says everything looks great, and he’ll steam the dress one last time before delivery.” He looks up, taking in Jughead’s blush and Betty’s stunned look. “What?” he asks. 

Betty turns to tell August — something, but Jughead grabs onto her hands, giving him her attention. “Please Betty?” he asks. 

Betty lets loose a blustery sigh and walks out of the room, her heels thumping loudly on the carpet. 

“What was that about?” August asks, half genuinely perplexed, half curiosity killed the cat.

“Nothing,” Jughead says.

“I will figure this out, Mr. Jones,” August says, a touch too seriously. “And when I do…”

“Yeah?” Jughead asks, goading.

“You will rue the day.”

“Too late,” Jughead snorts.

They drive to The Pembrooke, Betty darting glances at Jughead, as if he’ll disappear when she’s not looking. 

Jughead, despite wishing it to be so, does not disappear. When they pull up to The Pembrooke, Jughead practically leaps out and grabs Betty’s luggage. Smithers is there to greet them at the door, and leads them to Betty’s suite. 

August, of course, is talking about something, but Jughead is simply determined to not let Betty grill him any more on the Archie situation. So when they arrive at Betty’s suite, August lets Smithers walk Betty through the place and Jughead sets the luggage by the door and sneaks out.

He’s in his room, doing research on the next book he’s going to write, although nothing has really captured his imagination yet, when the knock on the door comes. 

He goes still, like maybe if he plays dead, whoever’s at the door will go away. The knock comes again, sharp and rapid. Betty.

Jughead sighs and goes to open the door, Betty standing there, arms crossed. “Don’t you have wedding stuff to do?” he asks.

“I have August to do that, and Veronica doesn’t come in until tonight,” she replies, letting herself in and closing the door. “What do you mean, he doesn’t see you romantically?”

“I mean that I that I see him differently, more than just a brother, and he sees me just as that; a friend, a brother. “ 

Betty looks at him and crosses her arms. “And you he told you this?” 

“Yes, we had a talk about our relationship, like two adults, and we determined we were just friends.”

“Okay, I need you to tell me what was said, verbatim.” 

Jughead sighs, “What does it matter, the answer is still going to be the same.” 

“Look, I don’t know what was said exactly, and I know you’re not going to tell me because you’re insufferably stubborn —”

“ _I’m_ insufferably stubborn?” Jughead asks, affronted. 

Betty rolls her eyes. “Jughead, please. You and your emotions are basically the north and south going zax.”

Jughead blinks. “What?”

“Dr. Suess?” She heaves a sigh. “I mean you and your emotions get in each other’s way, and won’t move, because you only go one way.” She touched the tips of her fingers together. “Rock and a hard place. That’s you.”

“That’s not what that means,” Jughead says.

“That’s not the point!” Betty yells. She ducks her head. “Sorry.”

Jughead walks over and takes her hands, fists, and pulls them up to his mouth for a kiss. 

“Betty, it’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” she says. She takes in a shaky breath and looks at him. “I know I’m insufferably stubborn too,” she says, squeezing his hands. She lets go. 

“But I wish you would help me understand what’s going on. At least what you’re feeling, or what happened between you two.”

Jughead sighs, and walks over to the couch, moving his laptop over. “I think that Archie just wants to be friends. And I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Betty nods, sitting down. “Okay.” She pulls out her phone. “Want to watch terrible HGTV shows until Veronica gets here?”

Jughead smiles, even though it feels heavy. “Sounds perfect,” he says.

They curl up on the couch and binge watch, Betty falling asleep somewhere between the episodes, head on Jughead’s lap, phone clutched loosely in her hand.

Jughead thumbs through his own phone until the battery gets dangerously low. It’s late afternoon and nearing on past lunchtime. Jughead nudges Betty gently.

“Hey,” he says, and Betty stirs, groaning.

“What?” she asks. 

“It’s time to eat. Veronica gets here in an hour.”

“Okay,” Betty says, getting up. “I didn’t make your leg fall asleep, did I?”

“Only a little,” Jughead says flatly, teasing.

Betty rolls her eyes. “What did you want for lunch?” She wanders over to the kitchen, and Jughead can’t imagine there’s anything there, as he’s only eaten out or over at Archie’s since he’s gotten here. He plugs his phone in as he can feel blood in his feet again.

“I wouldn’t say no to a sandwich,” he says, looking up, and of course, Betty is already pulling out bread from a fully stocked pantry.

“Veronica thinks of everything, doesn’t she?” Jughead sighs.

“One of her many charms,” Betty smirks. She starts building a sandwich and Jughead scratches at his face, remembering his rush this morning. 

“I’m gonna go shave,” he says, and Betty hums, already layering deli meat on bread.

Jughead takes a minute to shave, a breather from constant people. He’s not used to having so much time with people constantly, and it’s draining him. He slowly goes through the motions, savoring every scrape along his chin and neck. 

He comes back out, slightly damp, and Betty has two sandwiches plated up, and is on the phone. 

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the food closest to Jughead. He picks it up to take a large bite. Turkey and tomato, just how he likes it. 

“Okay! See you in a few, babe!” Betty smiles. “Love you too.” She hangs up. “That was Veronica,” she says unnecessarily, putting her phone down and picking her sandwich up. “She want’s a little get together when she gets in, just like drinks, real casual.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling August this?” Jughead asks through a mouthful of food.

Betty rolls her eyes. “August isn’t planning this, I am.” 

“Great, I’m sure the pantry is stocked with Cristal, or whatever.”

“But I need finger foods.”

“Who exactly is coming to this shindig?” Jughead scoffs.

“Oh, you, me, Veronica.”

“Great, cancel the finger foods, then.”

Betty smiles slowly, precisely, and Jughead feels a chill down his spine. 

“We’re getting hummus, at the very least, Jughead Jones.”

Jughead wonders if this is why all of Betty’s underlings at the paper are so terrified of her. They’d be right to. 

“Sure, let’s go get hummus.”

Betty claps her hands together. “Great! Let’s finish lunch and go!”

Jughead is already suspicious with Betty strong-arming him into going with her to buy snacks, but when she pulls up to the grocery store that feeling is doubled. 

“The nice store is down the street,” he says, pointing uselessly. Not that Grindle’s Groceries is bad per se, it’s just no Elderman’s Market. He’s not even sure Grindle’s even carries hummus.

“Memories,” Betty says blithely, and Jughead’s inner alarm is blaring at this. 

His suspicions are confirmed as they walk through the parking lot. A 1974 Dodge truck in Frosty Green is parked near the doors. The glare he sends Betty is enough to melt the hull of a warship, but Betty looks cool and unassuming. Like butter wouldn’t dare think of melting in her mouth.

Jughead wrangles a cart out and huffily pushes it behind Betty. He should have known that Betty would be this low down, but he was soft and tired and she knew his weaknesses. Mainly the redhead shopping for apples in produce.

“Archie!” Betty calls, and Jughead knows that Betty is legitimately excited to see him, even if her methods were underhanded, devious, and altogether too smart.

Archie turns, eyes wide, grasping a bag where Luna is methodically counting out apples to put into. “Betty!” he says, smiling. Betty runs over and he hugs her tightly. 

Jughead walks over to grab the bag from Archie so Luna can continue her work, but Luna wraps her arms around his legs before he can do so. “Hi Juggie,” she says, looking up at him. 

“Hey Lulu,” he says, suddenly overwhelmed. “Have you met Betty? She’s getting married this weekend.”

“I’m the flower girl!” Luna says brightly, looking over at Betty. 

“I know! I’m excited for you to throw flowers,” Betty says, leaning down. “Jughead’s my best man, did you know?”

Luna shakes her head, still gripping Jughead’s jeans. “Jughead makes really good pancakes, he can be my best man too.”

Betty frowns half a second in confusion then sends a sly look Jughead’s way. “Good pancake maker, huh?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Archie says, unassuming. “Jughead spent the night last night after we hung out, and he was nice enough to make us breakfast.” Archie smiles at Jughead, and Jughead feels suddenly warm.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says.

“Yeah, making breakfast, no biggie,” Betty says, obviously lying. “Why’d you spend the night?” she asks.

“Oh,” Archie says, “We went on a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Jughead's defense, he's dumb when it comes to Archie.  
> In Archie's defense, he thought it was obvious.


	7. Chapter 7

Jughead, when his brain comes back online, after the ringing in his ears stops, grabs Archie’s sleeve. Archie, the dolt, just grins at him. 

“Hey Luna? Betty? Will you excuse us for a moment?” Jughead asks politely, and Betty’s face is twisted up in the most amused and sly smile, making her look like the grinch, while Luna looks unsure. 

“Go pick out some broccoli that looks good,” Archie tells her, and Luna’s looks like she might gag or worse, cry. “And then some ice cream, okay?” Archie adds quickly, and then Luna is off like a shot, Betty following behind, looking at them while Luna drags her along.

Once they’re out of hearing range, Jughead yanks on Archie’s jacket still in his fist. “We went on a date?!” he hisses.

Archie blinks, confused.

Great.

“I took you out to the drive in,” Archie says, slowly, like Jughead doesn’t remember last night. “We had a picnic, and root beer. We cuddled.”

“Oh my God,” Jughead says weakly, running his free hand over his face. “You said before that we were friends. We pulled over on the side of the road and had a conversation about our relationship.”

Archie scrunches his face. “Of course we’re friends,” he says. “Friends go on dates.”

Jughead’s heart stops, sinks. Right, a friend date. Okay. And even though that was his supposition, it still hurts. He’s about to try to repair this conversation, when Archie continues, “I don’t understand, did you think we were…” he pauses, “friend cuddling?”

Jughead feels like he might pass out. His heart and head can’t follow what’s happening. “Yes!” he says. “We were friend cuddling.”

Archie looks as confused and hurt as Jughead feels.

Jughead sighs. “At least I _thought_ we were friend cuddling.”

“Well,” Archie says, rubbing the back of his neck and blushing. “I was going to hold your hand, but I wasn’t picking up those signals. But.” He looks down. “It’s okay. We can be friends, Jughead.”

Jughead blinks. “Wait, what?” Jughead has a bachelor’s in investigative reporting, and he’s never been so confused as he is right now. “Archie, I want to be your friend.”

“Me too,” Archie says, smiling. 

“But we went on a date?” Jughead asks, just to make sure.

“Yes!” Archie looks frustrated. “I brought blankets and different beverages, how more obvious could I have been?”

“I don’t know!” Jughead says, realizing they’re starting to get looks from how loud they’re being. “Maybe _telling_ me? Asking me if I wanted to go out?”

“Well Jesus Jug, do I need a notary to ask you out?” Archie asks, and Jughead can tell he’s mostly serious, mind racking on where the closest notary is. “Betty’s a notary, right?”

Jughead finally releases his grip on Archie’s jacket so he can cover his face with both hands and groan. “Look, we must have different definitions of what friends do,” he says after a moment to breathe.

“Friends go on dates all the time! It’s the whole basis of the show _Friends_!” Archie says, throwing his arms up in anger and confusion.

“You know I never watched that show!” Jughead says.

After a moment of silence, Archie slowly reaches for Jughead’s hand, making his intentions clear, slow.

Jughead stays still, and the hum of the grocery store around them disappears. 

“Look,” Archie says, holding his hand. “I’m sorry I confused you. I like you, Jughead Jones,” he says, amber eyes wide. “I like you as a friend, and yes, I want to be friends, but,” and he blushes, Archie Andrews _blushes_ , “I want to be more than that too.”

Jughead blinks. 

Archie is still holding his hand, looking at him questioningly, and brings Jughead’s hand up to his mouth and gently kisses his knuckles. 

“So, Jughead, will you go on a date with me? I can get it in paper and get Betty to stamp it. Pretty sure she takes it with her on trips.”

Jughead can’t help but laugh, gripping Archie’s hand and pulling him in. “Listen,” he says quietly. “The entirety of the grocery store is watching us right now. I can even bet you Betty and Luna are at the end of the aisle next to the soup cans, peeking around the corner.”

Archie leans over a little to look past Jughead’s shoulder and smiles warmly, confirming Jughead’s theory. 

“But if this were anywhere else, I’d kiss you right now,” Jughead says, blushing immediately afterwards. 

Archie’s face lights up. “Yeah?” he asks, breathlessly. 

Jughead doesn’t know how this became his life. “Yeah.” He clears his throat; squeezes Archie’s hand. “We have a lot to talk about, but, yeah,” he says. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Cool,” Archie says, beaming like a total dork. A dork that Jughead loves. “There’s a wedding coming up, wanna come with me?”

Jughead nods, and there’s a clearing of a throat.

Jughead turns, and there’s Betty, broccoli in a flimsy bag in one hand, and a box of fudgesicles in the other. Luna is next to her, grasping a carton of strawberry ice cream. 

Archie makes a face, probably at the amount of sugar versus vegetable ratio the girls have, but doesn’t protest when it’s put in the cart. 

“Well!” Betty says, looking at her watch, “Veronica should be in town soon. We’re having a little get together tonight, can you come?” she asks Archie. 

Archie thins his lips, shakes his head. “Can’t, I’ve got Luna tonight, and Dad’s busy.” He smiles. “Besides, it’s Barbie and pasta night,” he says, and holds up the broccoli. 

“Can I come, Papa?” Luna asks.

Archie laughs. “No baby,” he says. “We’ve got to get to bed early. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Luna crosses her arms and pouts. 

“Hey, it’s just going to be adults talking,” Jughead says. “Nothing fun, like tomorrow.”

“Cake tomorrow, right?” Luna asks.

“You got it, and you’ll meet Veronica, and maybe if you have good behavior, your dad will let you have a chocolate covered strawberry.”

“Okay,” Luna says, rolling her eyes. 

Jughead holds in a laugh. It’s probably not good to encourage sassy behavior, but Archie seems to roll with it.

“Great! We’ll see you tomorrow,” Archie says, smiling. He pushes the cart towards the aisles, and calls for Luna to come along.

Jughead turns to Betty. “Well played, Cooper,” he says, crossing his arms. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Betty says, sniffing. Then she smiles, breaking the scene. “Oh my God, Jughead, are you two together? I was right, wasn’t I? I was right!”

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything,” Jughead grumbles. 

Betty is practically vibrating. “Well?”

Jughead rolls his eyes, “It was a date, and we’re going on another one,” he says.

Betty laughs, grabs his hand. “C’mon, there’s hummus in the deli, you grab the carrots.”

 

The small shindig turns out to be as laid back as Jughead wants it to be. When Veronica gets in, she looks perfect, as always, but on closer inspection has that wild eye she gets when stressed.

Betty goes with it, holding Veronica close and kissing her gently. “Hey babe,” she says, taking Ronnie’s face in her hands. “Welcome back.”

Veronica melts, tearing up, and Jughead politely looks away. But Ronnie calls out his name not but three seconds later. 

“Hey Veronica,” he says, coming in for a hug. 

“Thanks for doing all this, Jughead,” she says.

“Getting the hummus wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Veronica narrows her eyes. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Then she smirks.

Jughead is already rolling his eyes, knowing what’s coming. 

“So I heard you ran into someone at the grocery store,” she says slyly.

“Like you didn’t come up with this scheme with Betty,” he drolls.

Veronica bites her lip in joy. “Okay, but apparently, totally worth it, right?”

Jughead sighs. “Whatever,” he says, feeling the heat in his cheeks rise again.

She laughs, letting him go. “Let’s pop open some champagne in celebration, shall we?”

Jughead abstains from the champagne, but eats some of the snacks and they all sit on the couch, talking about the wedding. They’re still in Jughead’s suite, but Veronica starts continuously yawning, and Betty is snuggled up in her side. 

Jughead lived with them long enough to know winding down for bedtime is sooner rather than later.

Veronica’s feet are in Jughead’s lap, and he’s thumbing through his phone when it buzzes. It’s Archie. 

_Luna wants to say goodnight, can we FaceTime?_

_Yeah, of course_ , Jughead replies, and a minute later, the familiar electronic beeping of an incoming call starts.

Jughead accepts, and Betty stirs at the noise, humming.

“Hi Juggie!” Luna says, the sort of manic cheerful that kids get on the verge of falling asleep.

“Hey Lulu,” Jughead says, a smile tugging at his lips. 

“Papa says you can’t read a story to me,” she tells him, a pout already at her lips. 

“I don’t have the book with me,” Jughead says, laughing. “I can tell you a story, if you really want,” he offers. 

“Please?” Luna asks.

Jughead clears his throat. “Okay, once upon a time, there was a princess named Luna,” he starts, and he feels a poke at his stomach. He looks over to see Betty and Veronica smirking at him, and he duly ignores them as he continues the story of Princess Luna. 

Jughead gets off the couch and goes to his room to finish the story, out from under the magnifying glass that is Betty and Veronica’s twin gaze.

Luna interrupts once in a while, adding details or twists to the story that Jughead works in. Turns out that Princess Luna does like bananas, but rides frogs, and only monsters scare her. Eventually the story wraps up, Luna piping up less and less, her eyes drooping. 

“The end,” Jughead says. “Do I need to text your Papa?” he asks.

“I’m right here,” Archie says, low, off screen. He turns the video around to face him, but with the light in the room so low, it’s hard to make anything out. “Thanks Jughead, it means a lot to her.”

“Not a problem,” Jughead replies. “I like telling stories.”

“Yeah. She doesn’t get such imaginative ones from me. I go by the book.” 

“Going by the book is good too,” Jughead says.

Archie hums. “I don’t know, after this, she might have higher standards now.”

Jughead snorts. “Her dad is a world famous ballad writer, I think she’ll be okay.”

“Sing the song, Papa!” Luna says, and Archie puts the phone down. 

“I gotta go,” Archie says, and Jughead is more than a little sad that he’s not going to hear Archie sing. The video flips around to show Luna again. “Say goodnight, Luna.”

“Night!” Luna says through a yawn. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll have more cake.”

“Kay,” she says, and the video shuts off.

Jughead sits, holding his phone that needs to be charged, and thinking. 

There’s a soft knock at the door as he’s plugging his phone in.

Jughead looks up and sees Veronica. “Hey,” he says, questioning.

She smiles softly. “I’m only sort of sorry for sabotaging you and Archie this afternoon,” she says.

Jughead shrugs. “I’m not happy you were conniving about it,” he says, standing. “But I _am_ happy that it happened.”

“I’m glad,” she responds. “You and Archie needed to talk, it was driving me and Betty crazy.”

Jughead frowns. “How was it driving you crazy? Betty complaining?”

Veronica pauses. “Well, that,” she agrees, “But I also keep up with Archie. He’s uh…” She stops, trying to find the right word. 

“Archie,” Jughead fills in.

Veronica sighs. “Yeah, pretty much. A self sacrificing idiot.” She smiles. “But I’m glad it’s all cleared now.”

“Me too.”

Veronica smiles. “We’re headed to our suite now.” She leans in, pecks him on his cheek, the expensive scent of Tom Ford lingering on her from the day. “See you tomorrow.”

“Night, guys,” Jughead says, and he sees them out. 

He sighs, the weight of an emotional day on his shoulders, ready for bed. He shuffles back to his room where he slowly changes into lounge pants, peeling off his shirt and feeling the chill of outside. He’s made his way into bed, comforter over his head when his phone buzzes. 

He debates leaving whatever it is until morning, but then it could be an emergency, or Jellybean, so he grabs it off the nightstand and looks at it. 

It’s a text from Archie, and he opens it, burrowing deeper into the sheets.

_Can’t wait for tomorrow,_ Archie says, and then, the three dots pop up. 

_So we can’t kiss in a grocery store while everyone is watching, but maybe tomorrow when no one is?_

Jughead laughs, blushing. _Sure_ , he replies, after thinking about it for too long.

_Looking forward to it._

_Me too_.

Jughead desperately wants to tell Archie that he loves him, but decides it’s too soon. He doesn’t want to scare him.


	8. Chapter 8

The dim light of dawn filters through the window and Jughead groans. He’s willing himself to go back to sleep before his alarm goes off, but it’s not working.

He unlocks his phone and turns the alarm off, hitting his head against the pillow. 

Today’s not anything special, he tells himself. Just another day. In Riverdale. With Archie.

Jughead runs a hand over his face. Okay, he can do this. 

He’s done with his shower and shave when his phone starts buzzing.

A text from Betty: _Are you up yet?_

_Just got out of the shower._

_Hurry up and get dressed, we’re going to Spellman’s Brew for coffee and cinnamon rolls._

Jughead rolls his eyes and sets the phone down to finish getting ready.

He’s pulled on his jacket when the knock on the door comes. “I’m coming!” he yells, and opens the door to see Archie standing there.

Jughead opens his mouth in surprise, and Archie smiles, before leaning forward to capture Jughead’s mouth.

Jughead moans, bringing his hands up to cup Archie’s face, rubbing his thumb from the line of his jaw to their shaking mouths. Archie grabs Jughead’s waist, squeezing large hands on his hips, drawing him impossibly closer. 

Jughead sighs, his heart paused in beating in this moment, heated and soft. 

Archie presses his lips to Jughead’s again, cool from the morning air, warming up from Jughead’s mouth, once, twice, and again.

They both pause, breathing in the same air, wrapped up in each other, lips grazing.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Archie whispers.

Jughead frowns, but Archie continues, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I knew I’d never want to stop, and I was right.” 

Jughead draws Archie back in, feeling his chest squeeze from lack of air, from holding Archie so tight, from _Archie_.

Archie moans, low, and Jughead is about to drag him back into the suite and call it a day, let the bridal shower go on without him, he’s got Archie, he’s good, when he hears the click of a door opening, and he stops.

He pulls back reluctantly, he and Archie still wrapped around each other.

“We have to do stuff, don’t we?” Archie sighs.

“Yeah,” Jughead replies, his voice rough. He doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want to be out of this moment just yet.

Unfortunately, Betty and Veronica walk out of the door down the hallway.

Archie loosens his hold first, and Jughead misses it.

“Good morning,” Betty says, and goes in to give Archie a hug.

Veronica, meanwhile, winks at Jughead, a smirk on her face. She’s almost as bad as August. Almost. 

“Morning,” Archie replies, then moves to give Veronica a hug. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Jughead asks. 

“I don’t have any plans scheduled today, and Luna’s at school until I pick her up for the shower,” he says, shrugging. “I figured I’d join you.”

Jughead smiles. “Good, I’m glad.”

Veronica says nothing, but looks completely smug as she loops her arm through Betty’s and heads to the elevator. 

Jughead, not knowing what to do, Archie and he haven’t learned the inbetween stage of being together but not kissing, being in a relationship but touching, jerks towards the elevators after the girls. Archie steps behind him, and when the doors open, lightly presses a hand on the small of Jughead’s back. 

Jughead nearly melts, but holds himself together, ducking his head and willing his cheeks not to redden. 

The ride to Spellman’s is fairly quiet, Jughead zoning out, pre-coffee mode still, and when they get there, Archie sits him in a chair and squeezes his shoulders. “I know you’re useless before your first cup,” he teases, and Jughead sticks his tongue out at him. Archie just laughs and walks up to the counter as Jughead pulls out his phone and scrolls through his email. 

Betty sits across from him, doing the same for a moment, then stopping. She eyes him until he looks up, and she smirks. “City boy on his phone all the time,” she says.

“Everyone’s on their phone all the time,” he counters.

She rolls her eyes, conceding. “It’s okay to put the phone down sometimes,” she says.

“Okay, thanks Fred,” Jughead scoffs.

“Jughead,” she says, low.

He sighs. “Sorry, I just.”

“Just?”

He wants to go back to bed. He wants to kiss Archie. Go to bed and kiss Archie there. There’s a lot of wants in Jughead’s life right now and he can’t really have them. 

“I’m distracting myself from what’s happening,” he says slowly, looking at her.

Betty smiles. “Phones are good for that.” She pauses. “Something bothering you?”

“It’s too good,” he whispers.

“What is?” she asks.

“This, all this, it’s too good to be…”

“True?” she finishes.

“Mine,” he says, filling the gap. “It’s too good to be mine.”

She grabs onto his hand. “Don’t sell yourself short, Jughead,” she says. “I think maybe you’re the thing too good too.” She blinks. “If that makes sense.”

Jughead smiles wanly. “I think so.”

Betty squeezes his wrist gently. “I mean that you’re not the only one who lucked out, okay?”

Jughead wants to argue, that Betty and Veronica are made for each other, and Jughead is some Southside kid that fought his way up and out and managed to trick Archie into a lifelong friendship. 

And now, more.

It’s still beyond Jughead’s comprehension, that Archie wants him.

He’s interrupted by his thoughts when Archie sets a cup of coffee in front of him, and placing another at the seat next to him. “Thanks,” he says, taking the ceramic mug into his hands and taking a sip. It’s good stuff. He idly wonders if Sabrina roasts the beans too. 

Archie sits next to him, and Veronica walks up to the table. “Four more days,” she sighs, “and I get to marry my best friend,” she says, pecking Betty’s cheek with a kiss. She smoothes her skirt before sitting. 

Jughead darts a look over at Archie, who is smiling at the girls. “I know the shower is today, but is there anything on the agenda between today and the big day?” he asks.

“Well, apparently Jughead signed us up for a spa day on Friday. But,” Betty shrugs, “Hopefully taking it easy? We didn’t want a big deal, which is why we’re having it here.”

“How’d you do that underneath the eye of Mother Cooper?” Archie teases.

Betty rolls her eyes. “She’s mellowed, Archie, you know that.”

“Not about you,” he laughs, scrunching his nose.

Betty groans, placing her head in her hands. “I know,” she moans.

Veronica pats her back consoling, even though her mouth twitches in a smile. 

The waiter comes by with their food, croissants and cinnamon rolls and scones. 

Jughead’s eyes bug out a little with all the pastries in front of him. He’s already halfway done with his cinnamon roll, and Veronica is delicately pulling apart a chocolate de pain asking if Archie knows the chef.

“One of Sabrina’s aunts. I forget her name, but she always comes out with the best stuff,” Archie says after swallowing.

The conversation is light and easy, just like it always been, and it looked like nothing had really changed, even though everything had.

Jughead side eyes Archie between bites of breakfast, wondering if Betty is right, and while Jughead feels like it’s suddenly a dream, if Archie feels the same way. If Jughead is that wonderful thing too.

It seems pompous to even think it, but when Archie smiles at him, crow’s feet deepening at the corners of his eyes, it feels right. 

Archie leaves them around lunchtime, needing to feed Luna “something real, not finger food she’ll turn into Liz Lemon looking for mac and cheese, I swear,” and promising to come back for the bridal shower.

They head to Pop’s soon enough, and Hermione and Alice waiting, delighted their daughters are getting together, a little peeved about the location of the shower. 

“It’s not too late to go back to the Pembrooke,” Alice reminds them, and Jughead swallows any facetious comment he has so that a fist fight doesn’t break out. There’s a reason that Betty and Veronica hired August, and a major part of that was for Alice.

“Mom,” Betty whines, sounding sixteen all over again.

“Just saying,” she says, raising her hands, attempting to look innocent. It fools no one.

August comes in and starts directing people to seats, the bakery shows up with the cakes and strawberries, and finally, Archie and Luna show up.

Jughead gets up to greet them, before August can shove them off to a back corner booth. Luna leans in from Archie’s arms and hugs him, little arms around Jughead’s neck. She transfers into his arms easily, and August smirks at him as Jughead guides them to the booth near Betty and Veronica.

They are inevitably stopped by cooing from Hermione and Alice and Luna tucks her face in Jughead’s neck, suddenly shy. Archie is beaming with pride, and Jughead feels a bit of it too: Luna likes him enough to trust him, and he smiles and jiggles her up and down a little.

Betty and Veronica are watching them, entirely amused. 

“I can’t wait for grandkids,” Alice says wistfully, and Betty almost chokes on air. Alice beams, knowing what she said, and walks off to grab Betty some water. 

“Thought you were safe from the grandkids talk, marrying a woman, Cooper?” Jughead teases her as she turns a normal color.

“No!” she squeaks. “I just thought I’d be able to get married before the talk happened.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Keep dreaming,” he says, sitting down in the booth, Luna sliding off of him to look at the girls.

“When is cake?” she asks, and Jughead laughs.

“Not til later,” he replies, and Alice returns with a glass of water. 

Betty politely takes it. “Don’t forget,” she says, “Save room for Polly and _the twins_.” And Alice smirks, but moves to her booth. 

The party goes off without a hitch, and finally, finally, cake is passed around and Luna is so happy to have two small pieces. She mixes them both up into a pink and brown pile and eats the frosting first. 

The party wraps up and suddenly, Jughead feels exhausted. Archie nudges his knee with one of his and sends him a questioning look.

“Tired,” he says over the din of the crowd. 

Archie nods, understanding. “You’ve done a lot for an introvert, lately,” he says. And it’s true, if not sleeping, then Jughead has usually been in someone’s company or working.

Jughead rubs his face for a moment. “Maybe I’ll go back to The Pembrooke,” he starts, looking at all the opened presents, August laughing loudly and Betty and Veronica talking to their moms.

Archie raises an eyebrow, disbelief. 

“Yeah,” Jughead agrees, feeling even more exhausted. 

“Come over to ours, take a nap,” Archie offers. “Promise to keep Luna out of your hair,” he says.

Jughead chuckles, “Look, just a minute or two away from wedding stuff,” he says. “Not that I’m not honored about being best man.”

“But some alone time would be nice,” Archie finishes for him, smiling. 

They say their goodbyes, Jughead making sure that Betty and Veronica were okay with August finishing out the rest of the clean up. 

“Of course,” Betty says, kissing him on the cheek. “We hired him for a reason.”

The ride back to Archie’s is becoming familiar, Jughead knows the turns now, the particular houses with black doors, and sticking out like a sore thumb is Archie’s yellow house on Maple. It’s starting to feel like home. He parks behind the truck and gets out, the late September air getting even colder. 

Jughead shivers as he walks up to Archie’s truck, and Luna uses him to climb out and then runs to the front door. 

“Papa says you’re taking a nap,” Luna says, pouting.

“Yeah, I’m tired,” he explains poorly.

“I’ll read you a story!” she says, jumping up and down. Archie makes the humming noise of dissent, ready to knock the idea down reluctantly. 

“Sure,” Jughead agrees. “As long as there’s a Princess Luna in it, though.”

Archie smiles gently, ducking his head and unlocking the door. 

Luna takes Jughead’s hand and Archie tells her to take Jughead to his room. Jughead isn’t sure what to expect, and when he gets there, Archie’s room is dim, soft rays of afternoon light on the floor, the bed a dark gray with blue covers. It looks like Jughead could dive right in and keep going into covers for forever. 

“I didn’t wash the sheets,” Archie admits.

“That’s okay,” Jughead says, distantly thinking how nice the blankets will smell because they smell of Arch. 

Jughead toes off his shoes and slips under the covers, Luna hops next to him and starts weaving a tale with long winding rabbit trails and lots of unicorns. Jughead drifts off, and in his dozing he can hear Archie telling Luna to get off the bed and leave Jughead alone, and she slips off. 

Archie presses a dry kiss to Jughead’s cheek. “Sweet dreams, Juggie,” he says, and Jughead hums, opens his eyes. 

“Gonna kiss me awake too?”

“You’ll have to go to sleep to find out,” Archie laughs. He leans over again, and Jughead, despite being tired, wants to drag Archie into bed with him, to hold him, let their lips graze against each other for hours. Archie kisses his forehead and Jughead glares. 

“Tease,” he says.

Archie snorts. “I meant what I said this morning, and you look too tempting to kiss right now, Jughead Jones.”

Jughead arches his neck to be contrary and dig the knife deeper into Archie’s back. He smiles.

“Now who’s the tease?” Archie asks. 


	9. Chapter 9

When Jughead wakes up, he’s overheated, the kind of sweaty that only sleep can bring. He grumbles, and something small and warm wiggles around.

Blearily, he opens his eyes, and Luna is curled up in front of him, snoring softly, high pitched breaths. He tries to roll away, but is blocked, by what Jughead can only assume is Archie, spooning him.

Jughead doesn’t want to admit it, but Archie can go from zero to domestic in sixty flat. He _likes_ that, but he’s never going to admit it. Not when he can tease Archie relentlessly and see his cheeks redden in embarrassment. 

“Archie,” Jughead says, and gently elbows behind him. 

Archie groans, rolling over, before snapping awake. “What?” he asks, rubbing his eyes. “You okay?”

Jughead gets a vision of Archie raising Luna on his own, combating his body’s groggy tendencies to care for Luna, who has probably woken him out of a dead sleep before. “It’s okay, big guy,” Jughead says. He looks over at Luna who is still splayed out on top of two pillows. “Thought you guys weren’t gonna nap,” he says.

“Yeah, but then Luna wanted to have pretend bedtime? And we both fell asleep in here. Sorry. We can give you some space,” Archie answers, scooting out of bed. 

“Hey,” Jughead says, grabbing Archie’s wrist, “I like you, stay.”

Archie smiles, and Jughead pulls him in for another kiss, but Archie hesitates, darting a glance over at Luna, before pecking Jughead perfunctorily. It’s weird, and while it’s great, kissing Archie is great, Jughead feels cold.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice a whisper. Why doesn’t Archie want to kiss him?

“I um,” Archie clears his throat. “I read that it’s not healthy to have partners that…” he stops, his eyes widen. 

Jughead narrows his eyes. “Partners?” he asks. 

“Luna is at an age where she attaches to people really easily,” Archie says, sitting back down, holding onto Jughead, not looking in his eyes. “And for me, her guardian, to date people it’s going to be difficult.”

Jughead blinks. “Wait,” he says, red hot blood flowing through him in a rush suddenly. “You think I’m going to leave?”

Archie opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. “Jughead, I like you, a lot. As a friend, as somebody that could be something more one day. But you have a whole life, that’s not us.”

“Hang on,” Jughead says, raising his hands, hearing Luna stir then realizing that he’s speaking in a normal tone, “are you breaking up with me?” he whispers.

“No!” Archie says, whispering back, looking shocked and mad. “Why would I break up with you? I just asked you on a date yesterday!”

“I don’t know!” Jughead is frustrated and embarrassed. He feels so hot and miserable, and wants to leave, to go home, to New York even, where he doesn’t have to deal with people. Or Archie, who wants him, but doesn’t want him.

“I don’t understand,” is what Jughead lands on. 

Archie looks over Jughead’s shoulder at a still sleeping Luna, and then to a clock. “Okay I have to wake her up in twenty, or she’ll never go to bed, but come with me to the kitchen,” he says, and just like that, Jughead is following Archie all over again.

Archie leans on the kitchen island, arms spread wide, his head down. Jughead walks to the bar stools on the other side, sitting down and fingering the grooves in the wooden butcher’s block, where knives have been.

“It’s been twelve years, Juggie,” Archie whispers. “And like I said, I wouldn’t change that for anything.”

Jughead opens his mouth, but Archie looks at him pleadingly. “Please, I have more,” he says. Jughead nods. 

“I —” Archie clears his throat, blushes. “I like you. And I want to see where we can go. I just don’t feel comfortable showing affection in front of Luna until we know for sure _where_ we’re going.”

“So no kissing in front of Luna?” Jughead asks. 

Archie shakes his head. “I want to kiss you all the time,” he says. “I want to drag you onto the couch and pretend like we’re teenagers who neck all the time.”

“I can’t believe you said ‘neck’ as a verb,” Jughead says, huffing a short laugh through his blush. “I want that too,” he says, serious. 

“But I’m her dad, and it’s important that she knows that not all adults leave.”

Jughead feels like he’s been hit in the solar plexus. Right. He’s an asshole. He was thinking about him, about Archie, but now he has to think about Luna too.

Luna, who’s already lost her biological parents. 

“That was harsh, I’m sorry,” Archie says. 

“No,” Jughead says, shaking his head and studying the pain in his chest, wanting to remember. “You’re being a good dad. I was being selfish.” He puts his head in his hands. “This is really hard and confusing,” he complains. He looks up and Archie just shrugs at him. 

“I totally agree. Thanks for accommodating my needs, that makes you a good boyfriend.” Archie blushes, rubs the back of his neck.

Jughead feels like his brain just short circuited again. Boyfriend. He’s Archie Andrews’ boyfriend. It sounds almost childish, but this is something he’s always wanted. “Gonna give me your letterman jacket?” Jughead drawls, teasingly. Letting Archie know it’s okay. Jughead is into it. Beyond words.

It looks like Archie’s reached nova levels of heat and embarrassment, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck with both hands. Max capacity of embarrassed. Jughead blinks in realization. 

“Do you still have it?” he asks, his voice rising. 

Archie avoids his eyes. 

“You’ve thought about it,” Jughead says, snapping the last puzzle piece in, satisfactory and exciting. 

“Shut up!” Archie hisses, and Jughead laughs, delighted. 

“I’d be into it,” he says, and it looks like Archie might faint.

“Okay,” Archie says, voice pitched high, “I’m going to splash my face with cold water, and you’re not going to move.”

“Butter wouldn’t melt,” Jughead says.

“I believe it.”

Jughead wants to give in to the fantasy, to wander in the recesses of his mind of what a whole day with permission to touch Archie might be like.

But he can’t, because Luna will be up soon.

He can’t believe that he was so selfish, that he actually thought about leaving, just because Archie said no. 

“Shit,” he whispers, and pulls out his phone. He knows Betty has a million things on her plate with the wedding, but he needs help. _Am I a commitment phobe?_ he types, and Jughead can hear the water in the sink turn on as the dots show up. They fade in and out for a while, and Jughead dreads the answer more and more.

_I think you’re particular about who you want to be with._

_There’s something you’re not saying_.

_You run away when it gets hard, sometimes. Not always. Like, college, and then Scout, and even Veronica and me_.

“Fuck,” Jughead says, and wants to hit his head on the counter. _College isn’t running away, he tries._

_No, but —_

Jughead’s phone buzzes, and it’s Betty, actually calling him. 

“Betty,” he says, shocked. He looks around the corner down the hall where Archie is still cooling down before opening the back door and stepping outside. 

Betty sighs, and Jughead miserably slumps underneath the mostly built treehouse. It looks like a hunting stand, but it’ll be finished soon. Maybe by the time he leaves. “What brought this on?” Betty asks.

“You’re busy,” Jughead says, sitting down, bark rough against his skin. 

“ _You’re_ evading the question,” Betty comes back. Then, “I’m not too busy for you, Jughead.” 

“I got mad at Archie, and the first thing I think is I should leave.”

“Dude, you’ve got to get to therapy,” Betty says. “College was an excuse,” she continues. “Veronica and I made it back to Riverdale, but you never did. You just cut the rope. When we were dating, and it got difficult, you wanted to call it quits. Jughead, it’s not that you want to leave, it’s that you think people are going to leave you first.”

Jughead feels hot tears coming and wills them away. “Thanks, Mom and Dad,” he says, watery and trying to lighten the mood.

“Juggie,” Betty says, and it’s too soft, so Jughead has to lean away for a moment.

“I — I have problems,” he says, a realization, strange in it’s familiarity. “Like, I’m actually weird.”

He can _hear_ Betty rolling her eyes. “Jughead, it’s normal to have problems, you’re a human.”

Jughead sniffs, throws his head back against the tree, feels his beanie start to slide off. “But I don’t actually want to cut the rope,” he says. “It’s like...instinct, knee jerk.”

“Okay obviously I can’t unravel everything with you. But this is a good start.”

A good start. That’s what Scout said. He takes in a shaky breath, rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Thanks Betty, I got a lot to think about.”

“Good luck,” Betty says, and they exchange their goodbyes. 

Jughead stands up, grabbing his beanie off of the ground and sliding it back on. He stares at his phone for a minute. 

_It’s not that you want to leave, it’s that you think people are going to leave you first._

It’s a bullet, a sharp and blooming pain. He’s never dealt with his issues before, not really. He’s handled them. He’s compartmentalized all his hurts so he could move on. 

“Hey,” Archie says, suddenly there. “You okay?”

Jughead frowns, feels the dent between his brows appear. When he’s older it will alway be there, a reminder that he thinks too hard. He looks up, and faces Archie. “I think I may need to be alone for tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

Archie frowns, reaches out a hand to put on his shoulder. “Okay. Before you go, was it about us? About what we talked about in the kitchen?” Archie bites his lip. 

“No,” Jughead says. Shakes his head, tries to talk around the knot in his chest. “It’s me,” and then panics. “I’m not breaking up with you. I need some time, by myself, sort my shit out.”

Archie nods, even though it’s clear he doesn’t understand. 

“But I’ll see you for the rehearsal dinner?” Archie asks.

“Yeah, Thursday,” Jughead says. “I’m gonna,” he gestures to the street, where his rental car is parked.

“Okay,” Archie says, and Jughead walks through the house to the front door, hears the door shut behind him as Archie follows. “Wait,” Archie says, stopping him just as Jughead reaches the door. 

Archie walks towards him with purpose, stopping near him. He reaches up a hand, signaling. Jughead steps in for the other half, closing the space between them. Archie cups his face, bringing it down that one inch to kiss his forehead. Jughead sighs, leaning into it. 

“Text me?” Archie asks, and Jughead remembers twelve years ago, saying goodbye. There was no kissing, but Archie asked the same question, the same look in his eyes.

“Promise,” Jughead says, repeating history.

He gets into the car and pulls away, wanting to go back, to tell Archie everything, but he knows it’s too much. Archie wants things slow, for Jughead to stick around, and Jughead, he wants to respect that. So maybe saying how he’s desperately in love would sever them in half.

The Pembrooke is still there, and Jughead parks and hands his keys to the valet, feeling lost and misplaced. 

Betty and Veronica are busy with wedding plans, Scout has already helped him more than enough. There’s no way he’s asking August for advice. Jughead slumps on the couch, pulling out his phone. He thumbs down his contacts, and sighs, before dialing. 

“Yeah?” Jellybean answers, no sense of phone manners. 

It doesn’t matter. “Hey,” Jughead says. “Can I ask you something?” He swallows his pride. “About relationships?”

“Oh my God, what did you do?” Jellybean asks.

Here goes. “I’m dating Archie,” he says. The resulting silence is astounding. 

“I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say you were dating Archie?” she asks, sounding genuine for once.

“Yeah, Jughead says. “That’s not the point, though.”

“Not the point?” Jellybean almost yells. “Dude, you’ve been pining over Archibald Andrews since before time began, and you suddenly dating him is not the point?”

“I have commitment issues,” Jughead days, trying to get the conversation back in track. 

“No kidding, _Forsythe_ , who doesn’t in our family.”

“You, for one.” 

“Okay,” Jellybean says, and Jughead can practically see her hands gesticulating in front of him, “first off, I have never had a real relationship ever. Wanna know why? I can’t commit. I’m afraid of the what if’s.” She takes in a deep breath. “Our family situation sucked, Jug. There’s no way around it. But you have a chance at something amazing with Archie and you’re freaking out because you’re afraid of, what?”

“I’m afraid I’d leave him,” he says loudly. “Like last time. I run away.”

Jellybean is silent for a moment, then blows out a sigh. “Alright. Think of it this way. Why’d you leave in the first place?” 

Jughead thinks. “Because I was going to college,” he says. Jellybean’s silence is damning. He tries again. “Because I knew that if I stayed, I couldn’t leave. That I would just be worried about Archie.”

“Okay, super unhealthy, right? Why are you thinking of leaving now?”

Jughead falls face first on the couch pillows. “Because he thinks I’m going to.”

“Sorry, what? You’re muffled.”

Jughead turns his head. “Because he thinks I’m going to.”

“So, what, this is a self fulfilling prophecy?” Jellybean scoffs. “Why would Archie think you’re going to leave?”

“Because that’s what I do!”

“Think again. That was once, and yes, twelve years is a long-ass time, but think: why would Archie think you’re going to leave now?”

Jughead draws a blank. “I don’t know,” he says.

“Well,” she says, “think on it. I get there Thursday for the rehearsal dinner, so don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

“I’m not doing anything stupid now!” Jughead protests.

“Yeah, that’s why you’re calling me in a panic. Good one.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Just, good luck on your exam tomorrow.”

“Thanks!” Jellybean says brightly. 

Jughead grumbles out a goodbye and hangs up. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the rating has changed! No sex, but Jughead does talk about it in detail.

Jughead falls asleep early that night and sleeps most of Wednesday. He wakes up at noon, the sun at its zenith and it’s bright even for fall. 

He stumbles around his suite and proceeds to do nothing of real importance, letting the last week sift through his brain, letting the gears turn. 

Why would Archie think he’s going to leave him?

It’s definitely something he should be thinking about, but it keeps going in a loop. Because he left. Because he wants to leave, to run at the first sign of trouble. Scout said he wasn’t emotionally ready, and now he’s wondering if he’ll ever be. 

What has brought Jughead to this anyway?

He draws out a word cloud, but that doesn’t help, either. 

Eventually, he lays on the couch, expensive bottled water in hand and watches terrible tv. He falls asleep again, and when he wakes up, iIt’s early Thursday.

Jughead moans, stumbles off the couch and to the shower to get ready for the rehearsal. The dinner is tonight too. Jellybean comes in today. 

He gets himself clean and shaved, and dresses in his what Betty calls nice sweater, and jeans that don’t have holes.

“We’ve come a long way, baby,” he says to himself, and grabs his phone. He texts Archie first: _Hey Archie, thanks for the break. See you this afternoon?_

Then to Jellybean: _I didn’t do anything. Need a lift?_

Then to August: _3:00 at the reserve?_

He pockets his phone with the intention of getting breakfast, and heads out the door with his jacket on. He pushes the elevator down button when he hears a terrible hiss.;

“Jughead!” 

Jughead turns, and sees Betty, all five feet four inches of whoop ass, coming for him. “What?” he asks, immediately defensive.

“What did you do?” she asks, pointing a surprisingly sharp index finger into his chest. 

“I stayed in my room all day,” Jughead says, stomach growling. “I think I forgot to eat.”

Betty steps back, afraid for a moment. “You didn’t eat?” she asks. She throws her hands up. “What is going on?”

“Betty, what —”

“Okay, I thought this was taken care of,” she says, holding up an index finger. “But it’s clearly not.” She pulls out her phone, thumbing through it. 

“Betty, can we do this over breakfast?” he asks, and the elevator door opens. 

She rolls her eyes but steps in the elevator and Jughead pushes the lobby button. 

Betty is still on her phone. “I’m texting Veronica,” she explains. “I’m mad at you, Jughead Jones.”

“I gathered.”

She huffs and crosses her arms, and Jughead senses that maybe this is more to do with wedding stuff. “Pop’s?” he asks, and she shrugs.

The drive over is quiet and when they finally sit down, Betty blurts out, “Archie thinks you’re going to leave him.”

Jughead blinks, as does their waitress. “Coffee and a lumberjack special,” Jughead requests.

“Just coffee for me,” Betty says. 

“I know,” Jughead says, and waits for the server to set the mugs down and walk off, waits for the inevitable blowout. 

“You know?” Betty asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We talked yesterday, about,” Jughead waves a hand, “us. About Luna. I called you.”

“Right.”

“And I told Archie I needed to think about some stuff. Like, why I want to cut and run anytime commitment is on the line.”

“And what did you find out?” Betty asks, leaning back, narrowing her eyes.

“I think,” Jughead takes a breath “I think I’m afraid of being with someone,” he says. “Because I don’t want them to leave me.” He huffs a tired laugh. “So, I’m when I’m alone, it’s because I don’t want to be alone.” How perfectly, stupidly ironic.

There’s a buzz in his pocket. He pulls out his phone, and there’s a text from Archie, _Definitely_. He watches as three little dots show up. _Still need alone time?_

Jughead shows Betty. _No, I’m good for now._ He types out carefully. Then, he presses the call button. 

“Hey,” Archie answers.

“Hey,” Jughead says, sliding out of the booth and walking out the door for a more private conversation. “I ran into Betty.”

“Um, yeah,” Archie replies, and there’s the sounds of metal clanking together. “Sorry, I —” there’s a long sigh. “I panicked.”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I did too.” Jughead leans against the wall, his head hitting one of the windows. “Archie, I want this to work,” he says, convicted. “I don’t know how, but I want this to work,” he repeats himself.

“Me too,” Archie says. “I just, when you left yesterday, it felt like everything was repeating itself. Like I made some mistake again, I don’t know.” He says this quietly, unsure. He sounds small.

Jughead wants to punch himself in the face. “No,” he says. “I made the mistake. I freaked out because I thought you were going to leave, which, paradoxically, made me want to leave before you did, and then I did leave. I should have stayed.”

“You needed alone time,” Archie says.

“Yes, I did. And it was important. But this relationship is important to me too. I shouldn’t.” Jughead stops, runs a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t expect you to just accommodate me all the time. It’s,” he waves a hand in the cold morning air before tucking it in his pocket, “It’s about compromise.”

“Compromise,” Archie says.

“Yeah, like, lo —” Jughead chokes on the word; love. “It’s not an ultimatum,” he says instead. _Slow it down, Jughead_ , he thinks. _Archie needs you to slow it down._

“Right,” Archie says, and he sounds tired, and Jughead just wants to cry. 

“I will see you tonight, and we will talk,” Jughead says. “That’s a promise.”

“Alright,” Archie agrees, and that’s going to have to be good enough for now. 

Jughead walks back in the diner, where breakfast, thank God, waits for him.

He sits down and starts shoveling food in his mouth, Betty typing on her phone. “Got it taken care of?” she asks, not looking up.

“Yeah,” he says after swallowing. “We’re talking it out.”

“Good,” Betty says, and it sounds weirdly, heartwarmingly ominous. 

 

Jughead has to give it to August: he is, when in his element, impressive. His element being directing weddings. 

Jughead never has a moment of doubt of where he needs to be standing, or what he has to do, because August has spent the last couple of minutes mapping it out. 

The reserve is slowly cooling down, and the procession is small, consisting of Archie sitting the mothers down, and then Jughead walking down between the set up chairs, followed by Luna, who has a basket, empty of flowers. She hams it up for the coos and laughter, and Archie tickles her and sets her in his lap so the brides can walk each other down the aisle.

The minister they hired, says the service is short; an exchanging of vows, and then she will present them as wives, and then August takes back over, guiding them back up the aisle. 

They run through it three more times before August is satisfied. “Okay everyone,” he speaks up, clapping his hands together. “We will meet at the ranger’s office at promptly ten in the morning on Saturday. If there’s anything else you need to do, then I will contact you. Now,” he smiles. “The future Mesdames Lodge-Cooper would like to invite you to the Red Clover Inn for the rehearsal dinner.”

Jughead tries to contain his need to raise his eyebrows. The Red Clover Inn is one of the fancier restaurants in the state. It’s also a forty five minute drive out. Jughead walks over to Archie, hands in his jacket, feeling awkward. “Wanna lift?” he asks, and Archie flattens his mouth.

“I gotta wait for dad to pick up Luna,” he says. “And bring my guitar.” Archie scratches the back of his neck. “Is that okay?”

Jughead shrugs. “Sure.” 

Archie nods and Jughead’s phone buzzes: the perfect opportunity to be distracted.

Jellybean: _Just landed. I’ll meet you at the Red Clover, it reads._ Then, _Holy cow, who knew we’d ever live a bit of the high life, Jug?_

Jughead snorts. _Not me_. 

He wants to text her again, say, _I did something stupid by not doing anything stupid_ , but doesn’t.

Luna drags his attention away from his phone, wanting to practice more. “I want to use both hands,” she says, “and throw the flowers at the people so everyone is pretty.”

“That’s a sweet idea,” Archie says, at the end of the aisle. “But maybe just have the flowers on the ground, okay?”

Luna huffs, but relents. “Okay,” she says, and makes the motion of throwing the flowers in front of her from her imaginary basket. 

Fred pulls up, and Luna jumps up and down. “Grandpa!” she yells, and Archie picks her up and walks over to the truck. 

There’s an exchange, and Archie walks back to Jughead, holding his guitar case. “We’re gonna have to ride in your car,” he says. 

Jughead nods, and they pile in after Archie lovingly sets the guitar case in the trunk.

Jughead is nervous. This is Archie, though. Archie who he’s grown up with, Archie that he loves. 

That he can’t tell that he loves. 

Jughead feels like things are moving so fast because it’s been so long, and he’s loathe to wait anymore. But he needs to, for Archie.

“So what are you going to sing?” Jughead asks. 

“ _Something New_ ,” Archie says. Then, at Jughead’s confusion, “ _Something New_ , that’s the title of the song.”

“Hopefully it’s upbeat?” Jughead asks.

Archie hums. “It’s uh, forward thinking?” He darts a glance over at Jughead. Then he blurts out quickly: “I feel like I ruined us.”

“What?” Jughead asks, “No! No, you did not ruin us.” He frowns, wishes they had the time to pull over and talk this through. “I didn’t ruin us, I just, freaked out, which freaked you out.” He sighs. “Archie, there’s gonna be stuff in our way, but we can make it,” he says. He aches to hold Archie’s hand. Aches to tell him how much he loves him. 

“I mean, what else is in our way?”

“Us. We’re two people with emotions and baggage. Like, we haven’t had this talk fully, but I’m demisexual.”

Archie blinks. “How is that in our way?” he asks slowly.

“Well,” Jughead says, swallowing. “It means, I’m a gray ace. Asexual.”

Archie’s still giving him the same blank look. Jughead wishes there was something in the car to distract them from this conversation, even a gear shift, but no, it’s automatic. 

“I only feel sexual attraction to people I have a deep connection with,” he explains. “I’m not always going to want sex. And I don’t like certain sex acts. Like, they don’t do it for me.”

“Jughead, we’re adults, we’re not always going to be having sex.”

“I just mean, you might be in the mood, but I won’t be.”

Archie is silent about this. “I don’t get it,” he says after a minute. Jughead takes in a breath, ready to explain, when Archie continues, “If I’m in the mood, and you’re not, why would that matter?”

Jughead wants to kiss Archie as much as he wants to pull his own hair out. “Because it’s inconvenient, sometimes.”

“Inconvenient?” Archie asks. “Jughead, no one’s… forced you, right?”

“What? No,” Jughead says. “No one’s forced me. It’s just, people with higher sex drives, they’ll be ready, and I won’t be.”

“So,” Archie says, leaning back. He audibly swallows. “What does it for you?”

Jughead slides a look at him. “We’re fifteen minutes into a forty five minute drive, and you have to perform, do you really want to get fired up?”

“Fired up,” Archie repeats, snorting. “That doesn’t do it for me.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Intimacy, mainly. Like, making out is always good.”

“Okay,” Archie says, turning, eyes wide. 

Jughead clears his throat. This is such a bad idea. “Giving oral is good too, hand jobs, not so much.”

“Do you like to be touched?” Archie asks, voice rough. 

_Jesus_. “Yeah,” Jughead says, aware of his breathlessness. “Um, I like penetrative sex sometimes. But it takes a while for me to,” he waves a hand, blushing furiously. “Warm up. Even then,” he shrugs. “Even then I won’t want to sometimes.”

“Like, be penetrated, or penetrate your partner?” Archie asks.

“Be penetrated. I don’t, I don’t like penetrating,” he says, looking over. “Is that okay?”

Archie is silent, and Jughead’s mind warps into overdrive of all the things Archie is thinking. Like, it’s not okay, and he wants out, and he really likes to get fucked, or — 

“Sorry,” he says after a minute of solid panic. “I was uh, stuck on the warm up part.” His voice is gritty and soft at the same time, a dichotomy of want from his vocal chords. 

Jughead wants to say his soul left his body approximately eighteen times in that one minute, and for Archie to use his words, but Archie still looks daydreamy. About Jughead. “Maybe we should talk about something else for a minute,” Jughead says instead. He clears his throat and presses the gas a little harder.

Archie looks at him pointedly, and Jughead shrugs. “There’s a gap; we’re the last people to go.”

“We’ll get there when we get there.”

Jughead laughs. “Such a dad thing to say.” 

“I am a dad,” Archie says, crossing his arms, “I’m allowed to say dad things.”

Jughead smiles, and loosens his foot on the gas so Archie’s not glaring at him.

 

The Red Clover Inn is all simple lines and candles, white linen tablecloths, and a roaring fireplace in the corner. It is somehow cozy and elegant. He’s pretty sure Veronica picked out the venue, but made some accommodation for Betty’s taste as well, hence the cozy part.

The whole restaurant has been rented out, the tables arranged in one long line. 

Jughead looks for Jellybean, and spies her near the back, laughing at something. She looks nice, even a little bit grown up, and Jughead doesn’t know if he can handle that, yet.

Archie is behind him with his guitar, and gently nudges him in the door. 

“I’m going,” Jughead grumbles, and walks in. It’s suddenly real, the wedding. Before, it was all cocktails and parties, practically a vacation, and now, it’s here. Flowers on the table, candles between them, people already pulling up chairs. 

Jellybean sees him and quickly steps over. “Hey!” she says, grabbing Jughead by the arms. “I missed you, goober.”

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Jughead says, rolling his eyes. “I missed you too.”

“C’mon, sit next to me,” she says with a smile, and Jughead grabs a seat, draping his jacket over the seat next to him for Archie. “It looks like things are patched up?” Jellybean asks, darting a glance over at Archie, who’s trying to find a place for his guitar.

Jughead nods. “Yeah, we’re working on it.” He smiles, ducks his head. 

“Geez,” Jellybean says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, obviously everyone saw this ten miles away, but still. I’m happy for you,” she says.

“I’m happy too,” Jughead says, and Archie comes back from an adjoining room, hair ruffled and entirely too handsome for Jughead to handle.

Archie sits down, and so do Jellybean and Jughead. The food is incredible, a soup starter and then a butcher’s plate of meat and cheese cuts. The entree is a choice between pan roasted duck, or crispy skin haddock. By the time the dessert rolls around, Jughead is feeling almost sated. It’s another choice between creme brulee, and the chocolate pot de creme, and of course Jughead picks the brulee. The best part is cracking it.

Archie’s knee starts jiggling around dessert, and Jughead looks at him. “Okay?” he asks, and Archie nods. “Nervous,” he admits, his eyes wide. “I haven’t sung in front of this many people in a long time, you know?”

Jughead nods. “Deep breaths,” he says. 

Archie pulls in a deep breath and lets it out. “I wish Luna was here, she’d help,” he says and Jughead nearly melts into the ramekin that he scraped the creme brulee out of. 

“What would Luna do or say?” Jughead asks.

“I don’t know, she’s unpredictable,” Archie laughs, smiling. “I got her treehouse finished and she’s desperate to have a sleepover.” Archie’s mouth goes flat. “I don’t think she’s ready for one, really. I’m not even ready for her to have a treehouse.”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Jughead says.

“I’m lucky to have her,” Archie replies, and Jughead knows it’s not rote. Archie means it. 

After post dinner coffees, Veronica taps her glass gently and stands up. “Thank you all for coming tonight. We wanted our family and our closest friends to join us as we celebrate our love for each other. I won’t bore you,” she raises an eyebrow, “tomorrow we’ll have toasts.”

Jughead holds in a groan, because that’s him. He’s the toaster.

“But for tonight, Betty and I wanted to have our incredibly talented friend, Archie to sing a song for us. If everyone will come to the sitting room?” Veronica helps Betty get up and walks her into the sitting room. 

“That’s my cue,” Archie says, running hands down his pants. 

“You’re gonna do great,” Jughead says. He pecks Archie’s cheek.

Archie smiles, but he still looks nervous. He walks to the sitting room, running a hand through his hair.

Someone clears their throat behind Jughead, and he turns to see August, looking irrepressibly smug. “Well,” he draws out.

“August, I’d love to banter, but Archie’s performing,” Jughead says, cutting August off from further retort.

August sighs. “Whatever,” he says, and walks into the room.

Jellybean shoots Jughead a questioning look. “What was that about?” she asks, and Jughead shakes his head. 

“I’ll explain later,” he says, and they follow the crowd to a smaller room, an additional fireplace and couches set up for them.

Archie is there, fiddling with the strings, soft tones coming from his guitar. He looks up and spots Jughead, smiles.

Jughead, feeling stupid, feeling full, feeling right, waves.

Archie strums once, letting the room quiet, before leading into his song. It’s about all the things Jughead wants, about growing old together, about a family, about how love is always new, no matter how old it is. 

Jughead spaces out, wonders what it would be like to live like that, to be that with Archie. The song ends, and then Betty calls out, “ _Missing You!_ ”

Archie looks at her, askance. “That’s a breakup song,” he protests.

“But it’s my favorite,” Betty says, and Jughead can’t see her face, but it must be the wide-eyed look of innocence, because Archie sighs, and picks at the strings, the music haunting and resounding in Jughead’s mind. 

Archie keeps his eyes closed and sings.

_I love your lips_

Jughead sighs, feeling a tightening in his chest. He knows that August thought this song was about him, but it’s clearly not, not with that opener.

_Love your strong fingers that clutch the city’s heart, like they did mine_

Jughead frowns. Listens.

The chorus comes and goes, and the bridge, quiet, continues.

_So if you want to go, tell me, so I can say: make him happy for me._

Jughead remembers, remembers Archie’s words so long ago before he left for New York City, “If it makes you happy,” he said.

Jughead said something flippant in reply, not listening to Archie’s meaning.

But he’s listening now.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, and August, in front of him turns, smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Shut up,” he hisses at him, and August turns back around, satisfied that he’s won this battle. 

Archie gets up and sets his guitar down before Betty or Veronica can make anymore requests, giving a shy smile at the applause he receives. 

There’s more milling around and talking, and then yawns, and slowly, people drifting to their cars.

Jughead pulls Archie aside. “I’m okay to drive,” he says. “I had two coffees, I’m up.”

Archie smiles, lopsided. “Actually,” he says, and then blushes, grabs onto Jughead’s hand. “I booked a room.”

Jughead’s eyes widen, enough he can feel the air on them. 

“I got it when I thought it was going to be Dad, Luna, and me,” he admits. “But, you’re welcome to stay. We don’t have to do anything,” he follows up quickly, Jughead’s mind racing. “Veronica and Betty are staying tonight too, I can get a ride back with them.”

“Archie,” Jughead says firmly. Archie stops babbling. “I’d like that. Staying here, with you.”

Archie smiles, wilting under relief. “Great. Let me grab my guitar, I’ll get us checked in.”

Jughead stands there awkwardly, and the last few guests leave, including Jellybean. “See you,” he says, giving her a hug. 

She frowns. “You’re not going back to The Pembrooke?” she asks, putting on her jacket and Jughead blushes. She smiles, then frowns. “Oh gross,” she says. “I mean, I’m happy for you, but I don’t want to think about it.”

“Yeah,” Jughead agrees. 

“I’m going to leave now, and then pass out in a luxury bed. Goodnight!” she says, and walks out, hands up.

“Okay,” Archie says, guitar case in hand, and he motions over to the front desk. Jughead hangs back as Archie checks them in, and as soon as they are handed their actual key, not a plastic card, they follow the bellhop up the stairs. 

The room is spacious, and Jughead is wondering how many fireplaces one place can _have_ , and then the door quietly shuts, and he’s suddenly in a room alone with Archie.

“This place is really nice,” Jughead says. 

Archie nods, toes off his shoes. 

Jughead’s heart starts racing. He sits on the edge of the bed, shrugs off his jacket and takes off his shoes. He waits, looking at Archie to lead them. 

Archie comes and sits next to him on the bed. “We really don’t have to do anything,” Archie says. “This is kind of spur of the moment,” he looks at Jughead, searching for something. “And I want you to be comfortable.”

Jughead swallows. “How about we just wind down for a bit?” he asks, and Archie nods, and stands up, goes to the adjoining bathroom.

Jughead putters around in the room, poking the embers on the fire, putting another log on. He listens to Archie getting ready for bed, water running, and he unbuttons his cuffs, slowly takes off the pressed shirt. He’s still ramped up, but now, down to his boxers, he feels like whatever happens, happens.

It’s not fatalism. It’s not even karma. It’s a sense of _belonging_. Jughead knows he’s supposed to be with Archie, knew even as a stupid teenager. He missed his chance then, but now, now he gets to live it all over again, to choose Archie this time.

It feels like all the parallel universes Jughead ever lived in clicked in this one moment, this breath holding moment, so that he and Archie could be together.

Jughead is splayed on the bed when Archie finally comes out, face clean, shirt off, and pants still on. He looks at Jughead, and looks wanting. Like Christmas morning came but he can’t open the presents just yet.

“Hey,” Jughead says. “Take off your pants and get in bed.”

Archie nods. He takes them off and drapes them over a nearby chair and then gets on the bed. They both lay side by side, looking up at the ceiling. 

“So,” Jughead starts. “I should probably wash my face,” he says, making a move to get off the bed, but Archie grabs a hold of his hand. 

“Can it wait?” he asks, squeezing. “I like this.”

Jughead huffs a laugh. “Arch, we’re not doing anything,” he says, rolling over to his side in the middle.

“I like doing nothing with you,” Archie says, low. And it sounds dumb, Jughead should roll his eyes, but it’s _Archie_ , so he scoots closer. He runs his hands through Archie’s hair, traces the fine lines on his face, smoothes the large eyebrows down. Archie closes his eyes and sighs, Jughead brushes down Archie’s neck, stopping at the dip in his clavicle. 

Archie opens his eyes, brown and beautiful, and lifts a hand to Jughead’s face. Jughead nods, and Archie slides his fingers into Jughead’s too long to be stylish hair, gently nudges off his hat. Jughead swallows, ready for whatever Archie’s ready for. Ready for forever, even.

Archie draws him in for a kiss, and Jughead rolls on top of Archie, feels the surety of his body, the strength of his breath as he inhales, pushing them up, and Jughead feels alive. Feels like he could brush his lips against Archie’s for eternity, would like to. And Jughead closes his eyes, trusts that Archie will catch him if he falls. Their lips meet again and again, becoming tingling and bruised in only the way kissing or a fight can bring. 

Jughead tries to move impossibly closer, sounds of want rising from his throat. Archie loosens his hold on the hand he’s still holding to wrap around Jughead, drawing up his spine, clutching there. Archie grunts, shifting and Jughead pulls away.

“No,” Archie says softly, “don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jughead promises. And he kisses Archie like a fragile and precious thing, a man held together by threads of gold, all the more beautiful in his healing.


End file.
